The Purge
by Redbayly
Summary: When a man is pushed to the end of his tether, be prepared for violent retribution. The magical world had better prepare itself for the turning of the tide. If the magical government cannot be trusted to protect its people, then Harry Potter will just have to do it himself. Trigger Warning: Graphic depictions of violence.
1. There's One in Every Crowd

The Purge

 **By popular request, I have decided to make my one-shots "The Purge" and "The Purge 2: Culled" into a full fic. Originally, I had thought to leave them as just plot-bunnies my brain spewed out, but there was enough interest in them that I have decided to expand them into this.**

 **Warning: Blood, gore, violence, torture, murder, and all that nasty stuff. If you have a weak constitution, please leave this fic immediately.**

 **Notice: This will not be a superpowered!Harry story. So no fancy inheritance (there is _sort of_ one, but not like in regular inheritance fics), no enormous fortune (Harry was left enough by his parents, and he's not above stealing from Death Eaters), no titles/lordships, no undiscovered powers, and no marrying twenty girls. Everything Harry does is within the realm of possibilities, just extremely violent. There will be some character bashing, but nothing that is not deserved (I'm looking at **_**you**_ **, Dumbledore).**

 _ **Redbayly does not own Harry Potter. This will be the only disclaimer for this fic, so don't gripe at me if I don't disclaim every single chapter.**_

There's One in Every Crowd

Harry wasn't sure when it started, but he knew he had to kill someone.

It was summer, he was with the Dursleys _again_ , and his anger at being isolated from the people he cared about was only making his rage boil. He'd been distraught for a while, mourning the death of Cedric Diggory in that graveyard and cursing himself for not stopping it when he had a chance. To say nothing of how he felt about Voldemort coming back.

While he hadn't been best friends with Cedric (in fact, he barely knew the bloke at all), the suffering of the innocent had always infuriated him. Probably due to his own years of torment in the Dursley household. But Harry had realized not all that long ago that he was not just going to sit back and let the injustices continue. Oh no, he'd seen quite enough of that from his classmates (both during his time at Hogwarts and his days at primary school).

The main question in Harry's mind, though, was: What should I do now?

Harry had begun to realize that he was dangerously uninformed. He needed to learn more about the Death Eaters and Voldemort. And then take them down as quickly and severely as he could, by any means necessary.

That's how Harry ended up sneaking off to London to visit Diagon Alley. He bought what books he could on the last war, and a few on advanced defense magic. It was also there that he realized the Ministry was launching a smear campaign against him; though, thankfully, he'd brought his invisibility cloak with him and ducked under it before anyone stopped long enough to get a good look at him. Harry was incensed by this act of betrayal from the people his mother's sacrifice had saved (Harry always attributed his survival to his mother rather than himself) and was quite tempted to tell the lot of them to go to hell.

But he always remembered that Voldemort would still try to kill him, even if he abandoned the wizarding world to its fate. Besides, it wasn't in Harry's nature to leave innocents to die, no matter how stupid or selfish they were – damn that noble streak of his.

However, that didn't prevent Harry from taking matters concerning the guilty into his own hands. And, after visiting the public archives at the Daily Prophet (under his cloak, of course), Harry read enough in the editions from the war to realize that Death Eaters were not the type of people who should be permitted the privilege of living, let alone walking the streets and running the government.

That is when Harry hit upon the idea of a purge. The wizarding world was so corrupt that the rot had spread to its very heart. The only way to keep it from continuing was to remove it. And soon.

* * *

Harry had been formulating his plan for weeks.

He needed to train, to build up his strength. When he wasn't outside jogging or doing the chores, he was shut up in his room studying. He'd bought other reference texts after the spellbooks and histories of the war; mostly they were on the human body, but he'd also come across a book on medieval torture that he felt compelled to obtain.

While Harry objected to torture on principle, he had to admit that the thought of using such procedures on Death Eaters didn't horrify him as much as he had believed it would. He was worried that something had come undone in his mind recently because of how clinically he regarded what he learned and that he actually found himself intrigued by the notion of inflicting muggle-devised torments on purebloods who relied on the Cruciatus and Avada Kedavra for their schemes.

Another factor pushed Harry over the edge. Aunt Petunia had ordered him to clean out the attic. While Harry was looking through the scattered collection of objects all covered in dust – a stark contrast with the clean and ordered lives of the Dursleys – Harry discovered a copy of his mother's family bible. Such things were not uncommon, though it didn't surprise Harry that his aunt and uncle had chucked such a valuable thing in a box and forgotten it; they'd never been particularly religious, only ever visiting the local church for social gatherings.

Still, a family bible was an important heirloom and so Harry took it with him and hid it in his room. Harry himself was not very religious, being doubtful that a loving God would have allowed so many horrible things to happen. But he opened the old bible to the first page and found his mother's family tree. As he looked along the tree, he found a name, Matthew Hopkins, that seemed faintly familiar.

Searching through his trunk, he found his copy of _A History of Magic_ and scanned the index. Flipping to the correct page, he found half a chapter dedicated to the man. He was the most renowned witch-hunter of English history. The entire section vilified the man as a scourge upon fine, upstanding witches and wizards. A wizard's boogeyman.

Instead of disturbing him or making him ashamed of his heritage, Harry felt oddly calmed by it. It put certain things in perspective, in a way. Not that he believed a person's ancestry defined who they are (unless they were like Voldemort and based their entire lives around their heritage), but if one of his forbears had felt it necessary to become Witchfinder General, he must have had a reason. Especially if the wizarding world went out of its way to despise him.

If anything, Harry now felt justified in his course of action. All he needed now was to find the right moment to advance. A week later, he would get his opportunity.


	2. I've Got No Strings

The Purge

 **I apologize that the introduction was so short, but I am trying to get to the good stuff as fast as I can.**

I've Got No Strings

Harry had been upstairs in his room when the dementors attacked. He saw his window frosting over – normally impossible as it was both summer and the middle of a heatwave – and knew at once that he'd have to make an immediate escape. He wasn't going to bother saving the Dursleys, they deserved what they got and he wouldn't risk his own skin to save their sorry arses.

It would even be amusing to see how the ministry would explain a couple of soulless muggles to the general public; if they allowed it to make it to the press (which Harry intended to make sure happened).

Making sure his trunk was locked (he intended to retrieve it later, though most of his belongings were easily replaceable), he threw the invisibility cloak over himself and his Firebolt and made his escape out the window, leaving the Dursleys to their fate. He was prepared to act if the dementors followed him, but figured they would be too focused on sucking out souls to chase him (bird in the hand, as the saying goes). He was correct as the dementors swarmed on the Dursleys, having already finished with Dudley and his gang.

He was mostly flying blind for a while, before dropping down in a park. It was one of the large old parks that some aristocrat in the past had built for personal pleasure and sport, if the large groups of deer and what looked like antelope were any clue. Most parks of that sort had been opened to the public and Harry was unconcerned with being discovered as he sat down behind a nearby tree to rest for a moment.

Now he had to think. He wasn't sure when, if ever, it would be safe to go back to the house to get his things. He was just hoped Hedwig was safe, wherever she was. She hadn't returned after his last letter to his…friends. That was another sore point as no one, not Ron or Hermione or Sirius, had answered any of his messages except for a few earlier in the summer, and even then the replies had been brief and uninformative. Harry understood the need for caution, but things were a bit out of hand.

He had to focus, though, on finding a place to hide out.

* * *

"All right, report," said Head Auror Scrimgeour.

"The two muggles in the house were given the Kiss," said Auror Johnson.

"We found a group of muggles boys in the same state, sir," added Auror Perkins.

"Any indication as to why dementors were here or why they attacked this neighborhood?" said Scrimgeour.

"I think I know, sir," said Johnson. "Found out the muggles in there were the Dursley family. They're relatives of Harry Potter."

"What?"

"While searching the house, I found a Hogwarts trunk with the name 'Harry Potter' printed on it in one of the upstairs bedrooms. This must be where Harry Potter lives."

"And where is Mr. Potter?"

"I dunno, sir."

"He wasn't one of the boys who'd been Kissed, thankfully," said Perkins. "You don't think this was an attempted hit on him, do you?"

"Considering he's been saying You-Know-Who's back, I wouldn't be surprised," said Johnson.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know if he's right, but my daughter Angelina told me the kid's not the type to make things up."

"Enough!" Scrimgeour shouted. "We have a group of soulless muggles and a missing underage wizard to deal with. The boy probably got away when he saw the dementors."

"Or whoever sent them to kill him saw him and took him," added Johnson thoughtfully.

"We have no proof that this was anything other than an unfortunate accident."

"Unfortunately."

Scrimgeour scowled but didn't disagree. While he, like so many others, did not want to consider the Dark Lord's return as a possibility, he knew that if anyone could cheat death it would be Voldemort. If the attack wasn't the work of that monster, then it was probably an inside job by someone at the ministry who wanted the boy shut up for good. He also had a sneaking suspicion of just who might be behind it.

* * *

It was incredibly liberating not being around the Dursleys.

True, he was living in the Shrieking Shack, but it was still better than Privet Drive. And wasn't _that_ telling? At least he could safely do magic and fix the place up a bit. It seemed that the shack was just within the borders of the Hogwarts wards. Within a few hours, he had the place relatively livable.

He was just settling down to think of when he was going to check on Privet Drive and get his trunk when an owl swooped in with a letter. Scanning it first, he detected a tracking charm which he immediately dispelled before reading it.

 _Mr. Potter,_

 _We at the Auror Office regret to inform you that at three forty-seven this afternoon, your aunt, uncle, and cousin were found to be victims of a dementor attack. We did not find you here when we searched the premises and merely wish to ascertain that you are alive and well. Please forgive the tracking charm, but we simply wished to ensure that we find you if you are in danger._

 _Please respond if you are able._

 _From,_

 _Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour_

 _Department of Magical Law Enforcement_

 _Auror Office_

Harry gave a bemused huff before fishing a pen out of his pocket and writing his response on the back of the letter and sending it off with the owl. It seemed some things just sorted themselves out on their own. With that, Harry settled himself on the newly-repaired couch and returned to his planning.

* * *

Rufus Scrimgeour was surprised at the quick response. At least it confirmed that Potter was all right. The boy's letter, though, had been incredibly confusing.

 _To Head Auror Scrimgeour,_

 _Do forgive me for not choosing to linger when malevolent, soul-sucking monsters appeared outside my place of residence. Your concern is appreciated, though unnecessary as I managed to escape unscathed and am currently in hiding as I fear whoever sent those creatures to kill me (as that was surely their intended purpose, considering my relatives are not exactly known in wizarding circles) will attempt to do so again._

 _You will also note that I have had the tracking charm removed from this letter. I felt it was in my best interest to have it done as you can never be too careful._

 _I would be much obliged if you would send me my trunk. It has all my belongings in it and I am not sure about leaving my current residence to retrieve it. I would not be able to stay at Privet Drive anyway, considering my relatives are no longer in a fit state to take charge of me. Oh, I suggest you inform my uncle's sister Marge of the incident (only, do take care to create a muggle-safe cover story as she does not know about magic). The house and its contents (save for my trunk) all likely belong to her now as my relatives would certainly have left whatever they had to her._

 _Thank you._

 _Yours regards,_

 _Harry J. Potter_

Rufus scratched his head in confusion. The boy didn't seem to care in the least that his family had been Kissed by dementors. He'd also been a bit impudent in his opening remarks, but the auror figured the boy was understandably a bit testy after almost being killed. The casual dismissal of his family's demise had still been a shock, as though the boy didn't seem to care at all that they were gone. Something didn't feel right about it.

Still, he might as well send Potter his belongings. It had also surprised him how little Potter actually had. There had been nothing personal in the room, just the trunk, a desk, and a bed. It was unsettling how impersonal Potter's living conditions had been, as though the boy had just been counting down the days until he could leave. He quickly called for Johnson and sent him off to grab the boy's trunk and have it shrunk and owled to him (Potter had written that he'd had the tracking charm removed, so obviously he was with an adult who could unshrink the trunk for him).

Satisfied that he'd done his duty, Scrimgeour returned to the rest of the messy details of the incident. He had to inform the sister, of course (thanks to Potter's information) and also notify the parents of the few other boys who'd been with Potter's cousin and been Kissed. There were days he wished he could just drop everything onto another department, but Amelia Bones would have his head if he tried.

* * *

"Hmm, have I gone mad?" Harry said softly, closing the book he was reading with an audible snap.

He'd reached that train of thought rather suddenly. It had finally dawned on him that he was well and fully prepared to go out and torture and kill people, the very things he had been taught to abhor because the Death Eaters did them. Well, at least his plans were vital to the protection of innocent lives as opposed to causing the threats to innocent lives in the first place. Still, the fact that he, Harry Potter, the Gryffindor Golden Boy, was going to do something so out of the perception of his character nearly caused Harry to laugh.

Perhaps it was just his new lifestyle that had gotten to him.

He had been hiding away for about a week, only sneaking down to Hogsmeade under a disillusionment charm (which he'd discovered in his fifth year charms book he'd bought earlier that summer along with his other reference materials) in order to buy some food. Such an isolated lifestyle was not conducive to a healthy mental state.

Of course, that seclusion was not exactly Harry's fault. He had no idea where his friends were and no one had written to him except for the head auror concerning the deaths of the Dursleys. Regardless, Harry knew he probably wouldn't be able to confide in his friends about his plans for the coming year, anyway. He doubted Hermione would approve of him committing cold-blooded murder, and Ron would likely be sickened by it and accuse Harry of going Dark. Actually, that last one sounded more like what Dumbledore would do.

Now that Harry thought about it, he wondered whether Dumbledore had realized he was missing yet.

* * *

"I want my godson here _now_ , Albus!" Sirius shouted for perhaps the hundredth time.

Dumbledore winced at the obvious level of vitriol in the man's voice. Sirius had been incensed that Harry had been attacked while supposedly under the Order's protection. He would not be calmed by any of Dumbledore's "empty platitudes," as he'd called them.

"Please, Sirius," Dumbledore said tiredly. "I am doing everything possible to locate Harry, but he seems to be in an extremely well-hidden location that I have been unable to find. For all I know, he could be in another country."

"He could probably even be hiding at Hogwarts or near to it," suggested Remus.

"Do take this seriously, my boy," said Dumbledore with a patient smile. "If Harry was anywhere near Hogwarts, I would be the first to know about it."

"I will say it again, Albus," said Sirius hotly. "I want my godson here right fucking _now_!"

"Sirius!" exclaimed Molly Weasley. "Mind your language! There are children in this house."

"They probably heard worse than that as second-years," he said, waving his hand dismissively.

"Regardless," Dumbledore spoke up again. "As I have told you, Sirius, I am doing everything possible to find Harry. It is not easy and I ask you to have patience with me."

Sirius grumbled and folded his arms in a sulky fashion.

"Don't worry, Sirius my boy. I am sure Harry is perfectly safe. He will likely turn up soon. Besides, what sort of trouble could the boy possibly get into?"

* * *

 **Author's Note** **: And done, for now. Oh, Albus, if only you knew. The audience knows, of course, as most of them have likely already seen the early drafts in Little Bouts of Randomness. Oh, and, dear readers, please feel free to write in with suggestions for suitable punishments for those nasty Death Eaters. Don't hold back; after all, these are murderers, torturers, rapists, and puppy-kickers.**

 **The thing about the game parks at the beginning of this chapter is true. I visited England back in June and saw two such parks just around the outskirts of London. There were swarms of deer just wandering around and some animals that looked like antelope or some similar species.**


	3. Poor Fool, He Makes Me Laugh

The Purge

 **If you're hoping for much of a plot other than Harry brutally killing Death Eaters or getting petty revenge on Dumbledore…you've picked the wrong fic.**

 **Of course, the killing will begin after I get Harry back to school so he can start his purge. I will be altering the course of events from the original draft. Draco will be brutally killed but not for a little while yet.**

Poor Fool, He Makes Me Laugh

Sneaking into the wizarding publication, the _Daily Prophet_ , was actually laughably easy. There was a basic alarm spell over the door, but not on any of the windows. Harry was able to detect it by a very simple spell (which he could use with impunity in Diagon Alley because the whole place was rife with magic so underage spells went completely unnoticed). The stupidity of wizards was truly remarkable. Of course, he reasoned, no one would expect someone breaking into a newspaper publishing house; after all, all the money went into Gringotts and there wasn't much that could be stolen from a wizarding newspaper.

It's not like there was a black market for magical printing presses. Or was there? He didn't know for certain, but he wasn't there to steal anything.

During his research periods, he'd learned that the _Daily Prophet_ had an interesting system for how they prepared their print copies. All the articles and news bulletins were lined up on a kind of rack, ready to be printed in bulk at precisely six-thirty every morning. The reason why they were held so long before distribution was because the editors had to check everything in the following edition right before the end of the day, at which point it wouldn't make sense to print everything off as they might suddenly remember something that needed to be changed.

Harry had his own little addition to make before the papers started printing. It was about two hours before the presses were due to begin rolling and no one had shown up. After quickly inspecting the scheduled articles, Harry swapped out one about what "excellent work Minister Fudge is doing" with his own little work.

He waited under his invisibility cloak for the morning attendant to open the office and get the presses rolling before quietly sneaking away into the early morning light.

* * *

 _Ministry Attempts Murder!_

 _By Lex Talionis_

 _Last week, on August 6_ _th_ _, an attack was launched on Harry James Potter and his relatives. The attack involved two dementors which succeeded in administering the Dementor's Kiss to Mr. Potter's aunt, uncle, and cousin, as well as several muggle boys who had been living in the area and were with Mr. Potter's cousin. Thankfully, Mr. Potter himself managed to escape without injury. Upon making an inquiry with Mr. Potter, he informed me that he sensed the dementors coming (having spent an entire year with those monsters hanging about Hogwarts and attempting to kill the students) and ran for it._

 _I asked him why he didn't try to save his family. His response was that there wasn't time and that he was not sure if his relatives were even still alive and he was not going to risk his own life on a scant possibility. After all, dementors were not supposed to be in a muggle neighborhood, so why was he supposed to be prepared to protect his relatives?_

 _He implied that if the ministry had lost control over two dementors, then someone else must have sent them as there was little chance the attack was a coincidence. If the Ministry of Magic has not lost control of its dementors, then a ministry official with high enough security clearance to have access to control of dementors had to have ordered the hit._

 _But if the ministry has lost control over some of the dementors, then who were they answering to? Who has enough power and enough Dark Magic to sway dementors from their post at Azkaban?_

 _I know of only one person who could do such a thing, but the ministry continues to assert that he is dead, despite the fact that no corpse was ever recovered. If the Dark Lord is truly dead and gone for good, then why is the ministry trying so hard to discredit a fifteen-year-old boy who they claim is just trying to cause trouble and get attention, regardless of the fact that Mr. Potter has never made attempts to draw public attention (at least before last year, in which all the articles about him were written by Rita Skeeter, a woman with dubious journalistic practices who is known for fabricating stories to create sensationalism)?_

 _If the Dark Lord has not returned, as Harry Potter claims, then just what is the ministry trying to hide?_

* * *

There was a metaphorical firestorm at the release of the article. Fudge had stormed into the office of the chief editor of the _Daily Prophet_ demanding answers for what he termed as "slanderous lies." The chief editor had no idea how it had happened and no clue as to who the mysterious Lex Talionis was. As bad as the tantrum from Fudge that the chief editor had to endure was, the minister himself was about to face far worse.

Dozens of Howlers poured into his office. The people of the wizarding world were not quite ready to abandon the Boy-Who-Lived, at least not those families with muggle-born in them who had learned to distrust the lies that the ministry spoon-fed the general public. Most of the traditionalist purebloods directed their anger at Harry (as many of them were Death Eaters who Harry intended to get rid of within the coming year), who simply dismissed whatever hate-mail came his way. He was too invested in his plans to care about dead-men-walking and their sniveling.

Most of the public, though, was fascinated by the mysterious author of the article. After all, many of them had never seen someone so openly defy the ministry and force logic into their faces. While a number of them tried to brush off the article, there were even more who began to wonder: What if?

Dumbledore was now getting frantic. He didn't like that Harry had spoken to someone from the press, and someone Dumbledore hadn't first vetted the person to ensure that they would show things in an appropriate light. Sirius's demands for his godson were getting more threatening by the day. But he had Order members out searching relentlessly up and down the country for any sign of Harry. They had tried searching a few other countries, but had been apprehended and sent back to England the moment they were found to be operating investigations on foreign soil without signed permission from the ICW.

Harry did finally condescend to manifest himself, having decided that the game was getting a little old. Before he did so, however, he snuck into Hogwarts and left a few surprises for the headmaster. While he wouldn't be able to see them, the knowledge that he'd gotten away with it was reward enough. For the time being.

"Harry!"

"Oh, hello, Headmaster," the young man replied. He'd been sitting in Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor, waiting for Dumbledore or one of his cronies to show up.

"Harry, it is not safe out here. We must get you to a secure location."

"After I've finished my ice cream. I recommend the mint-marshmallow swirl."

"Harry, please."

"I'm not asking for much, Headmaster. I'm just trying to enjoy what rare childhood moments I can, considering I never had one."

Dumbledore winced under the very intentional guilt jab. As much as Harry hated to admit it, he knew Dumbledore felt at least somewhat bad about condemning him to years of torment with the Dursleys and robbing him of his childhood. Not that it changed Harry's overall opinion of him, as Dumbledore was still a manipulative bastard who had long been due for a comeuppance. Aberforth Dumbledore was quite a fount of information if you asked him the right questions and joined him in bad-mouthing his brother.

The headmaster gave a tired sigh and waited patiently for Harry to finish before he insisted on taking him to safety. Harry consented, albeit with a seeming reluctance, and allowed Dumbledore to apparate them both to a dingy street filled with old row houses. They stopped in front of a space between number eleven and number thirteen.

* * *

Upon entering the house, Harry was tackled into a hug by his relieved godfather. He noticed other familiar faces, including those of Hermione and the Weasleys, but he was not inclined to be very forgiving. He understood why Sirius wouldn't be able to write to him, as his godfather was both in hiding and, Harry reasoned, probably being held a virtual hostage by Dumbledore. Harry's friends, however, had no such excuse. Once Sirius finally released him from his suffocating hold, Harry took a good look at the house. He instantly missed the Shrieking Shack.

"What's this old dump, Sirius?" he said, causing Sirius to laugh.

"This is the ancestral home of the Black family, Harry," Sirius replied. "This is where I grew up. May it someday sink into the earth, never to be seen again."

"Hey, Harry," Ron said. "Where've you been, mate?"

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Harry said with a scowl, making Ron flinch.

"Harry, mate, you know us. We're your best friends."

"I really don't think I do. You see, you both do look a good deal like my two best friends, but I've come to the realization that they both may be held prisoner somewhere. What other excuse would my best friends have for not writing to me since early this summer, and even then only giving the barest details?"

Ron and Hermione both looked at the floor with expressions of deep guilt.

"We're really sorry, Harry," said Ron. "But Dumbledore asked us not to write too much and then told us to stop _all_ communications."

Harry turned to glare at the headmaster, who had followed him into the hall. The old man didn't even have the nerve to look Harry in the eyes, either.

"I see. In that case, I will just show myself out."

"Harry!" Ron and Hermione were not the only ones to make the exclamation.

"No, no, it's obvious I'm not wanted here," Harry said dismissively. "I shouldn't be surprised, though. I've never been particularly wanted anywhere. Why did I think my own friends would want me? Sorry, Sirius, but I don't think I should linger. I'll just go back and spend the rest of the summer at my own safe house. Oh, before I leave, has anyone here seen Hedwig? She never came back after my last letter."

Hermione bit her lip and seemed to shrink.

"The headmaster thought it best if we kept her here," she said.

Harry gave a disappointed sigh that left Hermione feeling all of about two inches tall.

"I see. Do retrieve her, if you please." Here he turned to Dumbledore. "And, Headmaster, do keep your crooked nose out of my personal life. It's hard enough having friends, but friends who don't write and are willing to turn their backs on you at someone else's bidding is a bit too much for me to deal with."

"Harry, I am sorry I could not allow your friends to write to you," Dumbledore said. "But I had to consider the fact that the letters might be intercepted. Now, there will be no nonsense about you leaving. You are safe here."

"You seemed to be under the impression that I was safe with the Dursleys. That did not exactly work out, did it?"

"Harry dear," said Mrs. Weasley. "Don't be so rude to the headmaster. Or to your friends, for that matter. The headmaster only did what he thought was best and Ron and Hermione have been asking incessantly when you were going to get here."

"Be that as it may, I am not in a particularly agreeable mood and if I am going to be held hostage here, as is clearly the headmaster's intention, then I request that you give me some space."

Everyone, save for Sirius, began to sputter at the accusation against the headmaster. Harry's godfather was quite inclined to agree with him about the arrangement, as he himself was being forced to stay in the miserable old house.

"If you want some space, Harry," Sirius said, "You can take the room next to mine up on the top floor."

"Thank you, Sirius."

Harry followed his godfather upstairs without another word to the others. Ron and Hermione were both deeply ashamed of what they'd done, not having fully realized how angry Harry would be about being left out of the loop. Hermione, at least, was willing to admit she'd made an awful mistake and promised herself she would find some way of making it up to Harry. Ron, as usual, was clueless as to what exactly Harry was angry about and figured that, once Harry had some time to cool off, they'd go right back to being best mates again.

* * *

Harry set his – currently tiny – trunk on the floor of the bedroom, tapped it with his wand, and it immediately expanded to full size. Sirius, who was leaning against the doorframe, gave him a mock-disappointed expression.

"Using underage magic outside of school," he said, tutting slightly. "Oh, for shame. Your mother would be beside herself."

"We're behind wards," Harry replied, giving him an impertinent grin. "Don't tell me you never broke the underage magic rule?"

"Never!" Sirius protested in an over-dramatic fashion. "I was a well-behaved and respectable young wizard. I only _bent_ the rule. And I certainly never did so in the presence of an adult. We've got to work on your subtlety, young man."

The two broke down in laughs.

"By Merlin, it's good to have you here, Harry. But we won't get to spend much time together."

"Don't worry, Sirius," said Harry. "When this war is dealt with and we get your name cleared, we can go spend some time in the tropics, getting drunk and chatting up women of loose morals."

"I'd – I'd like that, Harry."

"In the meantime, we can think up some ideas for pranks. I already got Dumbledore, but I could use some help with some new ideas."

Sirius seemed to choke up at the thought of spending time with his godson. Particularly since the activity he suggested was one of Sirius' favorite things. He was so proud.

* * *

Dumbledore returned to his office in a considerably cheerier mood than earlier. Harry Potter was safely ensconced at Headquarters and the Greater Good was safe for the time being. If only he could get Fudge to see reason and accept his very flimsy evidence that Voldemort had returned. After all, he was Albus Dumbledore, his word should be trusted completely and without question! Now the impudent minister was going to interfere in his school. Well, perhaps he could use it to his advantage.

Sitting down at his desk, he sat to contemplate the serious matters that lay before him. That was when he noticed the large white box sitting there on his desk. He cast a quick detection charm over it and, finding no enchantments of any kind, opened it to find some delectable cream-filled doughnuts. Not having had such delicious pastry in years, thanks to that diet that Madam Pomfrey had him on, he eagerly took one and bit into it.

That's when he realized something was terribly wrong. Instead of the taste of rich cream he expected, he was met with the dreadful surprise of mayonnaise. Spoiled mayonnaise, to be precise.

Spitting out the mouthful of tainted pastry, he tossed the box into the bin and walked over to the sideboard. He reached for the decanter and poured a generous helping into a glass and tossed it back. He didn't normally drink, but when one is as traumatized as he was then it was certainly necessary. That's when he realized something else was wrong.

His stomach started to gurgle in a way it hadn't for almost a week now. Well, he was one hundred and fourteen years old, after all. This prompted a very hasty retreat to the loo.

Several very uncomfortable hours later and he had concluded his business. When he reached for the toilet paper, however, there proved to be only two squares left, on which had been written: _You are out of toilet paper_. Ordinarily, this circumstance would not have been a problem for Dumbledore, who could easily conjure more toilet paper or even just cast a cleaning charm on himself.

However, in his haste, he'd left his wand on his desk.

* * *

 **Author's Note** **: I calculated the day of the attack on Harry as being the 6** **th** **of August because, in book five, his hearing was scheduled for the twelfth, he was kept locked in his room at Privet Drive for four days, and spent another full day at headquarters, so the sixth day would have been the hearing. Or did I miscalculate? I'm not sure if the first of the four days Harry was locked in his room was the day of the attack, but I will count it for the sake of the story.**

 **Also, Harry's** _ **nom de plume**_ **is a Latin term that is used to refer to a "punishment that fits the crime." Not necessarily a "mirror punishment" but one that is meted out with the intention of suiting the offence.**


	4. You Have Forgiven

The Purge

 **Did I mention I'm open to prank ideas as well? Harry's revenge on Dumbledore is going to mostly be petty as he doesn't quite realize how deep Dumbles' manipulations run. At least, not yet.**

You Have Forgiven

A knock at the door drew Harry out of his reading. While he was not really an avid reader, he was determined to learn anything that could help him in his plans. He'd been in the middle of a text on wards when the knock had sounded.

"Unless it's Sirius out there, I suggest you leave," he replied.

"Harry, please, I need to speak with you." It was Hermione.

"If you're here to preach self-righteously about how you were just following the headmaster's orders and did nothing wrong, you can piss off."

"That's not why I'm here! Harry, I just need a moment."

Harry shared a look with Hedwig, who had taken up a post on top of the dresser since being returned to his care. The owl twisted her head around and back again before giving a sharp bark.

"Do I have to?" Harry asked her softly.

"Preck!"

"Fine."

He marked his place in the book and rose to answer the door. He opened it only a fraction, just enough so that Hermione could see his face.

"What is it?" he asked in a rather petulant manner.

Hermione took a deep breath and looked Harry right in the eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I'm sorry, all right? I made a mistake, a really awful mistake, and I feel absolutely horrid. I knew you would feel excluded by my lack of letters, but I never fully realized just how much it would hurt you. It was selfish and stupid and I'm sorry. I know apologizing can't change the fact that I basically put our four years of friendship at risk, but I am hoping that you can forgive me and I am willing to do whatever it takes to make it up to you."

Harry's brow furrowed in thought and he gave a quick glance around the hallway behind her.

"I noticed Ron isn't here to apologize," he said.

"No," Hermione replied with a disgruntled sigh. "He's convinced you overreacted and isn't willing to admit that he made a mistake."

"So, nothing I didn't expect." Harry gave her a look and realized she really was sincere about apologizing. As much as he was coming to be a ruthless, unforgiving bastard, he still held a soft-spot in his heart for his friends. At least the friends who were willing to admit a mistake and apologize. "Want to come in? I could use some human company."

Hermione entered the room cautiously and took in the rather bleak surroundings. The room had obviously belonged to a Slytherin, though Harry had made no attempt to have that changed. In fact, Harry seemed to almost fit with the room's décor. It was slightly unnerving.

"What are you reading, Harry?" she asked, trying to break the ice.

"A book on wards," he said casually. "I'm trying to figure out how they work, but I haven't taken Ancient Runes. Makes me feel even stupider for taking Divination."

"Would you like me to help you? We've been learning a bit about ward construction in Ancient Runes and I've been doing some extra credit work on how they function and what disrupts them."

"Thanks, Hermione," said Harry with a small smile. "I don't have much of a head for this stuff anyway. You know I'm better at practical things."

"Oh yes, flinging spells and chasing dragons on a broomstick you can do, but you're all thumbs at theory."

"I understand the symbols, though. I've got them memorized, but I just don't know how they're supposed to work together."

"If you want to do some independent research on the subject, I'd be happy to tutor you."

"Even with O.W.L.s this year?"

"Oh, well, yes, even with the O.W.L.s. There are some other students in the class who do as well as I do, though. I can give you their names if you need someone to study with if I'm busy."

"Thanks, Hermione. Though I doubt anyone is as good as you in any magical class."

"I don't know everything, Harry. I know for a fact that you outclass me in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Then we'll compromise. I'll help you study for DADA and you teach me Runes."

Hermione rolled her eyes and picked up the book.

* * *

While Harry wouldn't say he'd completely forgiven Hermione, he was on far better terms with her than he was with Ron. At least Hermione had had the decency to apologize and offer her help. Ron seemed to think that everything was fine and got annoyed when Harry didn't immediately welcome him back with open arms.

Harry also didn't have much trust or regard for the members of the Order of the Phoenix. From what he could tell, they weren't really doing anything. He'd managed to glean the information that Voldemort was after something, though what it was and why he wanted it were rather suspiciously omitted from the conversation. Still, Harry figured that what the Order did to waste their time was none of his concern as he was going to end the war on his own and had no interest in any of them getting involved.

He only willingly spoke with Sirius and Hermione. Anyone else, he cut off with a firm glare when they tried to engage him in conversation. Molly Weasley quickly became enraged by his behavior and had attempted to browbeat him into submission, before he reminded her rather firmly that she was not his mother and had no authority over him. While the Weasley matriarch had been something of a mother figure to him, it did not entitle her to dictate what he could and could not do, especially with his actual guardian being right there. He was also still wary when it came to Remus, owing to the man's steadfast devotion to Dumbledore; he hoped that he could convince the man that the headmaster was not as perfect as he thought, but he hadn't had much luck so far.

Most of the time, Harry kept himself shut away in his room which had once belonged to Regulus Black. Harry found it strangely fitting that he was using the room of a dead Death Eater to secretly plan ways of killing Death Eaters, but Harry soon found that Regulus was not quite as reprehensible as his compatriots.

It had happened rather accidentally. He'd been poking around the room and the decrepit old house elf, Kreacher, snuck in and started saying some nasty things about Harry polluting "Master Regulus'" old room and about what shame the presence of all the "mudbloods and blood-traitors" in the house was causing and other nasty comments. Harry, in a fit of temper, had told Kreacher rather sharply: "Maybe if your beloved master hadn't joined Voldemort and his band of thugs, he wouldn't be dead."

Kreacher had sputtered and made an attempt to get angry, only to break down in ugly sobs. Harry had been reminded, somewhat, of Dobby when the little fellow thought he had done something wrong or committed an offence. Harry, despite his vindictive streak, still had those horrible remnants of Gryffindor nobility.

"Kreacher, I'm sorry," he said. "I suppose Regulus is a sore point for you. But, you have to understand that Voldemort didn't care whether your master died. He used him like a tool and saw him disposed of when he wasn't useful anymore."

"Filthy half-blood doesn't know what it's talking about," Kreacher wheezed. "Poor Master Regulus is dead and Kreacher couldn't stop it. But oh, how Kreacher tried! Kreacher should not have left Master Regulus! Kreacher should have gotten help!"

"Wait, you mean you were there when he died?" said Harry.

"Kreacher would have stayed, he would. But Master Regulus is ordering Kreacher to leave and tell no one in the Black family what is happening."

"Kreacher, I'm not in the Black family. Tell me what happened to Regulus."

"Why would filthy half-blood care?"

"Because I want the one responsible for his death to be punished. He was clearly a young man who got caught up in something he didn't fully understand. He made a mistake in joining Voldemort, but he was young and just wanted to make his parents proud."

So the story unfolded. Kreacher being sent to accompany Voldemort to the cave and nearly dying, but coming home as ordered and telling Regulus about the locket. Regulus going to the cave and drinking the cursed potion and then ordering Kreacher to take the locket and destroy it, before he was dragged off to the murky depths of the lake by the inferi. Harry had promised himself he wouldn't feel pity for Death Eaters, but in that moment he couldn't help but feel sorry for Regulus. The young man really had gotten in over his head and then tried to make it right by taking down Voldemort.

"Kreacher, where is the locket?"

"It is being downstairs in the cabinet that the blood-traitors have been ransacking. Kreacher tried to destroy it, he did! But Kreacher couldn't!"

"Kreacher, if you get me the locket, I will try and find a way to destroy it."

"Filthy half-blood will help Kreacher keep promise?"

"I will try. I need to find out what type of magic is on it, though."

"Master Regulus knew. He was keeping journal."

The elf popped away and then reappeared with an old leather-bound journal.

"Kreacher is not prying into Master Regulus' secrets, but filthy half-blood can."

Harry quickly used a detection charm on the book and was thankful he had. Several Dark spells were on it; which Harry knew he would need help in removing.

"And the locket?"

Kreacher handed him a rather gaudy silver pendant that was embedded with small emeralds in the shape of an 'S.' Harry thanked Kreacher and, again, promised to do everything he could to destroy the locket.

* * *

September 1st arrived, bright and sunny, and Harry was in search of a train compartment. The Order had delivered him, Hermione, and the Weasleys to the station and he'd quickly separated from them, knowing that Hermione and Ron had to go to a meeting in the prefects' carriage. How Ron ended up becoming a prefect was an absolute mystery to Harry as Ron wasn't particularly driven, or hardworking, or rule-abiding, or academically gifted. Harry knew he wouldn't be chosen as prefect, and to be honest he was actually rather satisfied with that arrangement as it would only interfere with his plans.

He soon found himself in an almost-empty compartment. The only other person inside was a young girl who seemed to be reading her magazine upside-down.

"Um, do you mind if I join you?" he asked.

She lowered her magazine and stared at him with slightly unfocused, protuberant, silvery eyes. Her face was framed with a mess of dirty blonde curls, she had her wand tucked behind her left ear, and around her neck she had a necklace of Butterbeer corks.

"Not at all," she said in a dreamy voice. "Do you mind if _I_ sit here?"

Harry stared at her for a moment, caught a bit off guard.

"Well, you were here first," he said. "It's not like I have any business objecting to your presence."

She gave a small nod and a misty smile before gesturing for him to take a seat. After he stowed his trunk and Hedwig's cage (having already sent her on ahead), he sat opposite his new travelling companion, who was looking over her magazine again.

"Are you planning a murder, Harry Potter?"

Harry reeled back in his seat and his hand moved towards his pocket where his wand was. The girl simply lowered her magazine once again and stared at him with those large, unsettling eyes.

"You have that look about you, you know," she continued. "It's easy to see that you're angry at someone. Or many someones. Are you going to kill them?"

"Why do you want to know?" Harry asked, his suspicion peaked.

"You just strike me as the type to take preemptive action. With You-Know-Who back, I suspect you have quite a good deal of work cut out for you."

"Wait, you believe me, then?"

"Of course. Daddy wrote in our magazine that you're telling the truth, and I believe Daddy."

Harry blinked a few times. She was perfectly serious.

"I see. Well, you know me, but I don't think I've met you before. What's your name?"

"I'm Luna Lovegood. And I'm not surprised we've never met. I'm in Ravenclaw and a year behind you."

"It's nice to meet you, Luna."

"It is nice to meet you, too, Harry Potter. If you need someone to give you an alibi while you commit those murders, I'm available anytime outside of normal class hours."

"Uh, thanks, Luna."

"You're welcome."

They were joined shortly after by a nervous Neville Longbottom and a determined Ginny Weasley. Ginny had been another nuisance in his life lately; while she seemed to have mostly gotten over her childhood infatuation with him (or, at least, did a good job of hiding it), she was trying relentlessly to ingratiate herself into his very small circle of friends – which had gotten smaller since he wasn't speaking with Ron.

"Hey, Neville," said Harry. "How was your summer?"

"It was good," Neville replied. "I got a really great present for my birthday."

"Another Remembrall?"

"No, though I could probably use one. I lost the old one ages ago."

"It didn't really help you much anyway. What's the point in knowing you've forgotten something if it doesn't tell you what you've forgotten?"

"Good point, Harry. But, anyway, I got this new plant." He pulled out a pot containing a strange, bulbous thing that somewhat resembled a grey cactus. "Mimbulus Mimbletonia."

Neville then attempted to show them the plant's defense mechanism, which resulted in a foul-smelling grey substance exploding over the whole compartment. Well, at least Harry was certain of one thing; it was going to be an interesting year.


	5. Behold the Lord High Executioner

The Purge

 **Trigger Warning: Mentions of suicide attempt (the reason for which was rape). Violence, gore, and torture directed at people who deserve it.**

 **We're finally at the nasty (and good) stuff. This is where I start using the material from what I already published in Little Bouts of Randomness.**

Behold the Lord High Executioner

Harry concealed himself behind the curtains of his four-poster bed in Gryffindor Tower and began to plot. He'd been back at school for about a month and things at Hogwarts had never been worse. The toad-like woman they had teaching Defense was both a joke and a menace. Dolores Umbridge seemed to take a vindictive pleasure in assigning him detentions in which she would have him cut open the top of his hand with an enchanted quill. She was also trying to keep the students as downtrodden, uninformed, and uneducated in defensive magic as possible, which was already bad enough with exams but with Voldemort in the mix was lethal.

She had quickly found her way onto what Harry termed his "Little List."

He had plenty of names already, but he was biding his time at the moment. He'd needed to refine some of his plans and ensure he had the tools and skills necessary to confront his targets. Also, after learning about Regulus, Harry wanted to verify beyond a shadow of doubt that the people on his list were beyond redemption. It didn't take long for Harry to realize that Regulus was perhaps the only Death Eater to ever regret his actions, the rest were a bunch of sick fucks who needed to go down.

During his time back at school, Harry had been preparing for his first strike. He'd spoken with Dobby about a good place to get information out of Death Eaters without getting caught, and the little fellow had come through.

"There bes the Come-and-Go-Room, Harry Potter sir," Dobby had said, and then proceeded to tell him of the location and how to access it.

"Tell Dobby, Harry Potter sir," the elf continued. "Will yous be getting rid of bad Master Lucius?"

"Yes, Dobby," Harry had replied. "Lucius Malfoy is very high on my list. As is his son."

"Good. They is both deserving it."

"Dobby, I've been meaning to ask, are there wards to keep out house elves?"

"There is, Harry Potter sir. But most wizards is not using thems because they's not thinking elveses is being dangerous."

Typical wizarding stupidity, which Harry had every intention of exploiting. If the purebloods were foolish enough to leave their homes wide open to house elves, they were basically asking for someone to break in.

Harry had left that meeting with Dobby's enthusiastic promise of assistance in getting rid of the Death Eaters. That didn't mean Harry was going to stop his study of wards as there was a possibility that someone might have anti-elf wards, and even if they didn't there were other wards to be considered. Luckily, he was picking up on the field of wards rather quickly with Hermione's help.

Still, he had been waiting for the right moment. He'd never killed anyone before (except for Quirrell, of course) and had certainly never tortured anyone. He had been beginning to doubt if he could do it. That is, until he heard about the attacks.

It wasn't Death Eater attacks, at least not specifically. Harry lay back in his bed and thought about what happened earlier in the day. He'd been walking through the halls by himself, deep in thought, when he'd found a Hufflepuff girl from his year standing on the ledge of a window, about to throw herself down. He caught her by the hand, and she'd flinched terribly and tried to pull away to throw herself out.

"What are you doing?" he asked, not frantically but with determination.

"I'm trying to kill myself," she said, tears streaming down her face. "Please, just let me go. I can't stand it anymore."

"Why? What happened? Please, don't do this to yourself!"

"I can't keep living like this. Just let me die."

"Please, step down from the ledge and we can talk."

She turned to face him. Her eyes were reddened from crying and she had nasty bruises around her throat. She was in a terrible state and Harry was determined to do everything he could to help her. He managed to coax her into stepping down from her precarious perch and she collapsed into sobs.

"Please, I can't stand it anymore," she pleaded. "I just want it to end."

"What? Has someone been hurting you?"

She shuddered and tried to pull away again.

"Here, let's sit down a moment and talk," Harry continued. "There's no need for something so drastic." He managed to get her to sit beside him on the floor. He kept a safe distance from her; not close enough to make her uncomfortable but still near enough to stop her from hurting herself. "Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?"

"I – I can't – no one can help –"

"What's your name?"

"S-Sally-Anne P-P-Perks."

"It's all right, Sally-Anne. You're going to be all right. But, please, tell me what's the matter. If someone's hurting you, I'll make sure it stops."

"You can't. No one can. They're purebloods. I'm just…I'm a half-blood."

"It doesn't matter to me if they're descendants of Merlin himself. You wouldn't be trying to kill yourself if they hadn't done something unforgiveable. Please, Sally-Anne, tell me. I want to see them punished."

"You don't want to get involved. They're protected by their families. I begged them to stop and they just laughed and hurt me more. They said I should be grateful they were interested in me, that I should shut up and accept my place in the world. I can't stand it anymore."

"Sally-Anne, I promise you that I will never let them do that to you again."

She broke down in tears again and flung herself at him, grasping him like a lifeline. Harry rested a hand on her back and muttered reassuring things, promises to make it stop. When she calmed down, she revealed that her attackers had been Crabbe and Goyle. She'd seemed to lose focus on the present as she recounted how it started. She said the first attack had been the previous year; the two Slytherins had cornered her in a hall and put her under a silencing spell before taking turns forcing themselves on her over and over again. She'd tried to report it to the headmaster, but had been dismissed. She had visited Madam Pomfrey after one brutal attack and told her what happened, but the healer somehow forgot about it afterwards.

Harry knew it had to be memory tampering. And he began to have a dreadful suspicion of who was behind it.

Things had only gotten worse since the start of the year. She hadn't wanted to go back to Hogwarts, but she hadn't told her parents why, she was too ashamed of herself because of what happened. Malfoy had also participated in many of the attacks, usually just to watch or cheer on his goons, as he apparently had other "conquests."

If Harry had any doubts about his mission, they were now as dead as the Death Eaters soon would be. All he needed was to test himself, to see if he could truly fulfill his promises. And he knew just how to do that.

* * *

"Wakey wakey, Draco," said a mocking voice.

Draco Malfoy opened his eyes and his vision slowly came into focus on the grinning figure standing over him.

"Potter! What are you doing?! When my father-!"

"Yes, yes, when your father hears about this, blah, blah, blah," Harry said dismissively. "Of course, your father won't be hearing about anything from you because you'll be dead by then."

"WHAT?!"

That's when Draco realized he was strapped to a chair and didn't have access to his wand.

"You won't get away with this, Potter!" Draco screamed. "You'll be sent to Azkaban!"

Harry chuckled. It was a dark, sardonic kind of laugh that sent shivers of fear up Draco's spine.

"I have no intention of ending up in Azkaban. You see, Draco, the magical law can only help you if they can link any magical activity back to me; however, I will be strictly adhering to 'muggle' methods. I am going to teach you why muggles should be feared."

"You're bluffing, Potter!"

"Am I? See for yourself, Draco. We are alone here, you're restrained, and you don't have access to your wand. Speaking of which." Harry withdrew Draco's wand from his pocket, smiled genially, and snapped the stick in two before the horrified boy's eyes.

"Y-you can't do this, Potter," Draco said. "You're Dumbledore's golden boy."

"Really? How many time have you seen me interact with the headmaster? Considering how badly he's fucked up my life, I will never be his 'boy' in any sense. It doesn't really matter, though; there is no way he would ever suspect me of what I am about to do to you."

"W-what are you going to do?" Draco now looked about ready to wet himself.

"Well, the thing is, Draco, I have had enough of you and your ilk getting away with anything short of murder, and I won't give you the chance to even attempt that. So, I thought to myself, 'Harry, old boy, no true Englishman would ever allow scum like those Death Eater spawn to go on to torture, rape, and kill.' So, I decided to take a leaf out of the book of Matthew Hopkins, my great-great-great, or something, grandfather.

"You know about him, don't you? The famous Witch-Finder General. Amazing what you can find with just a bit of digging through your family tree. I'm just continuing a bit of family tradition; you of all people should understand that, Malfoy."

"You won't get away with this, Potter!" Draco persisted desperately. "If you kill me, people will suspect you were behind it when it gets out that you were missing!"

"But I'm not missing, Malfoy," Harry said smoothly. "At this moment, I am sitting in the Gryffindor common room studying for Divination."

"But…how?"

"Amazing what you can do with a bit of Polyjuice and a loyal, if somewhat insane, collaborator."

"Who?"

"I found out just recently that my dear Miss Luna Lovegood happens to be descended from John Stearne, a good friend of my ancestor Hopkins. Seems that some friendships can transcend generations. Now then, we were about to discuss what I am going to do with you. I think I will start by using an old-fashioned method of determining where you accepted the mark of Satan."

Harry dumped a bag of silver needles onto the nearby table.

"The trick is to find the one spot on your body that doesn't feel pain. So I will just be sticking these needles into you until you stop screaming. Then, once I have finished my investigation and determined that you are a servant of the Devil, I will proceed to the next stage of my inquiry."

"Why…why are you doing this?! You're a wizard, too!"

"But you don't see me that way, do you, Draco? You just see me as scum under your boots. You and your Death Eater friends would gladly see me and those I care about suffer much worse than what I will do to you. Cheer up, Draco; you're going to have something that no one else will ever have."

"W-what?"

"The honor of being the first in the Purge I am about to unleash on the magical world. I know it might seem a bit harsh, but it's all for the 'Greater Good' as Dumbledore might say."

* * *

"Ron, have you noticed anything odd about Harry?" said Hermione.

Ron looked up from his Quidditch magazine that was secretly covering a copy of Playwizard and looked over at his best mate. Harry was reading his Divination book upside-down and humming cheerily.

"Besides the fact that he's still not talking to me, he seems fine," said Ron.

"He's unusually cheerful considering recent events. Plus, he's reading his textbook upside-down."

"It's a Divination book, Hermione. It's not like he can learn anything from it right side up."

"Speaking of learning, shouldn't you be studying, too?"

"I'll get to it." He held the magazine up to his face and grinned as the girl in the picture started to peel off her clothing.

* * *

"You know, Draco, I just want to say how grateful I am that you decided to take me into your confidence," Harry said as he cleaned off the large, jagged knife in his hand.

Draco moaned in pain. He was covered in tiny, bleeding points where the pins had been jabbed into him. Then Potter had started asking him questions. How many students he'd raped or tortured, which other Slytherins participated in such activities, what he knew about the Death Eaters, and many other things of a similar nature. When he'd refused to talk, Potter slit open his arms and forced a bottle of blood-replenishing potion down his throat so that he had the continuous sensation of bleeding out without actually dying. Next, Potter pushed his fingers into Draco's eyes, as though testing himself to see if he could go further, gouging them out of their sockets as Draco screamed in agony. Potter had then taken great pleasure in using the jagged knife to slowly cut off Draco's…very sensitive parts.

Draco revealed everything he did and knew. He ratted out every Slytherin boy he knew was involved in the attacks, he squealed about all the things he'd done, and he confirmed numerous people as Death Eaters.

"I truly appreciate how helpful you've been."

"So…so now you'll let me go?"

"Let you go?" Harry's laugh echoed cruelly throughout the room. "Oh, Draco, whatever made you think you were going to live through this? No, I'm afraid I can't leave you alive. After all you've done and now that you know what I'm up to, I'm afraid your only consolation is that you will soon be dead. But not here, I need to make this more public. A warning for others."

Harry called for Dobby and initiated the next stage.

* * *

Umbridge stood fuming outside the Great Hall, preparing herself to fly into a rage at Dumbledore. She'd come downstairs for breakfast that morning to discover a crowd of students gathered outside the sealed doors. Dumbledore was standing amidst the crowd, assuring everyone that there was nothing to be worried about and that they should leave for the moment.

"Headmaster, is there a problem?" Umbridge asked in that sickly-sweet tone while looking like a puffed-up toad.

"I'm afraid so, Madam," he replied somberly. "There's been a rather…messy accident."

"Accident?" said an imposing figure in a red uniform who had just exited the Great Hall. "Is that what you'd like to call it, Headmaster?"

"What is going on?" said Umbridge. "What's happened?"

As the students were still hanging about, the auror put up a privacy spell around the three of them.

"There's been a murder," said the auror.

"What?!" Umbridge exclaimed. "How? Who?"

"We're not sure. There's no trace of magic other than a potion in his system. It's like a scene out of the witch-hunts. The victim was repeatedly stuck with needles, his arms were slit open, his eyes gouged out, and his, erm…anatomy was removed in a very brutal way. He was then fastened onto some sort of pyre and roasted to death. I wouldn't recommend going in there, ma'am, it's rather messy."

"Who was the victim?!" Umbridge demanded, forcing back a bit of bile that had risen in her throat.

"Draco Malfoy."

"That poor boy. It's an atrocity that this should happen to such a fine, upstanding, young wizard. What will his family say?"

"I intend to inform Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy presently," said Dumbledore. "I am certain we will find the culprit. Auror Watkins, are you sure there was no trace of magic?"

"Positive, sir," he replied. "As I said, the only thing close to magic was a potion. A blood-replenishing potion, to be precise. It seems the killer didn't want the boy dying too quickly."

"It was Potter who did this!" Umbridge announced firmly. "I know it was!"

"Control yourself, Madam Umbridge," said Dumbledore. "Young Harry would never do something so Dark. Why, he's as firmly on the side of the Light as I am."

"We also did a check of the dormitories," said Auror Watkins. "The portrait that guards Gryffindor Tower said no one passed her at all during the night."

"Thank you, Auror Watkins. Do please return to your investigation. I have to make that floo-call to the Malfoys. The loss of a child is a devastating thing."

"But, I don't understand," Umbridge persisted. "How could this have happened? And how could someone do this without using magic?"

"When we find the answer to that question, ma'am, you'll be informed," said Auror Watkins.

* * *

Classes had been cancelled that day and breakfast was delivered to the common rooms as the Great Hall was closed for the investigation. Already the rumors were flying back and forth about what was going on. In the Slytherin dorms, everyone was wondering what happened to Malfoy, who was mysteriously absent. In Hufflepuff, a young girl opened a letter, inviting her to witness a promise being fulfilled and justice delivered very soon.

In Gryffindor Tower, Harry had hidden himself away behind his curtains again. He realized that he wasn't as disturbed by what he'd done as he had expected to be. Draco deserved everything he got and his two goons were next. He'd invited Sally-Anne to join him in their upcoming demise because he felt it might help her get past the dark time she was going through. If she decided she wanted to help him with the rest of his plans, she was welcome to do so but he would not hold her to any obligation. He wasn't Dumbledore, after all.

Still, the fact that he felt no remorse for what he'd done unnerved him a little. He knew he should feel terrible for torturing and killing, but he honestly couldn't be bothered. He was just going to do it again later and he really couldn't muster the will to care about what he'd done and was going to do. All he was interested in was devising new and more gruesome ways of dealing with the monsters who would inflict the same torments on people who were innocent.

Did that make him the same kind of monster? He wasn't sure anymore. He'd not simply crossed the line in dealing with Malfoy, he'd obliterated the line, ripped it up, and used it to light the fire that had roasted the little pillock last night. He hoped he wasn't a monster. But then, in war, certain things could make an otherwise good and noble man into something so vile and twisted that his own mother would probably reject him if she'd known. And while Harry didn't really know anything about what his mother was like, he was fairly certain she wouldn't have approved of his methods.


	6. Criminals Should Be Punished

The Purge

 **Trigger Warning: It only gets worse. Graphic stuff.**

 **Again, events changed from the original in my one-shots collection.**

 **Also, I'm borrowing a trope that I believe was developed by Rorschach's Blot. And the title of the chapter is a quote from Lemony Snicket.**

Criminals Should Be Punished, Not Fed Pastries

"Madam Bones, here are the reports from the investigation at Hogwarts."

"Thank you, Jones," Amelia said, rubbing her brow as her headache flared.

She'd had to deal with a panic in the DMLE offices all afternoon because of rumors about the incident at Hogwarts. As she read over the reports, she realized that the rumors were not as unfounded as she hoped. The attack was brutal, the type of thing even Amelia was reluctant to wish on even the most hardened Death Eater. Unfortunately, this was not the first time she'd seen something of this nature.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think she'd come back from the dead."

"Ma'am?" said Jones, who was still there, waiting for further orders.

"I've seen just this type of _modus operandi_ before," said Amelia, looking up at the young auror. "But not since the last war. Not since before my partner died."

Amelia didn't continue but silently slipped back into memories of the most ruthless, bloodthirsty auror to ever enter the department. Her old partner, Lily Potter. There had been a reason the woman was nicknamed "The Bleeding Lily." Before her son was born and she had to go into hiding, Lily had struck terror into the Death Eaters who crossed her. Only a handful of the Death Eaters she engaged in combat made it out alive, and fewer still escaped without some gruesome and debilitating injury.

Then there had been the "incidents." Oh, no one could ever _prove_ that Lily was behind them, but the fact that fifteen prominent purebloods who had been released from custody despite having the Dark Mark (as they'd "obviously" been imperiused) were discovered brutally tortured to death in their homes caused numerous awkward questions about an auror possibly going rogue. Amelia, and a large percentage of the department (including its then-head, Bartemius Crouch Sr.), were not so suspicious; they were all positive it was Lily, not that any of them were going to attempt to arrest her for it for one simple reason:

No one in the entire department was stupid enough to try it. They were far more content to overlook the unprovable actions of a loose-cannon than to stick their necks on the chopping block. If the Wizengamot didn't laugh them out of the courtroom, Lily Potter herself might suspect whoever turned her in of being a Death Eater spy. And then the gloves would come off.

James Potter had been so terrified of the thought of having to witness his wife's activities in the field (as hearing her recount them at home every evening was bad enough) that he actually chose to work as a healer in the intensive-care wing of St. Mungo's, stating that it would be much less stressful. In fact, after Lily had very reluctantly gone into hiding with her family, Amelia was worried what kind of effect Lily would have on her son if she had nothing to do all day but sit in the house and tell little Harry stories of killing Death Eaters.

For a moment, she worried that young Harry Potter was behind the attack, following in his mother's psychotic footsteps. She didn't think he was, or at least hoped he wasn't, but she was determined to check every possibility. The thought of someone taking up Lily Potter's mission was absolutely terrifying. Though Amelia herself would shed no tears over Death Eaters, the fact remained that the victim in the Hogwarts case was still a student. The perpetrator would have to answer for his or her crimes.

* * *

Once the investigation surrounding Draco Malfoy's murder had been concluded, things were still very uneasy at Hogwarts. The culprit had not been caught and Umbridge was even nastier than before. She was still convinced that Harry Potter had been behind it and had taken to following him; Harry pretended not to notice her, to give her the feeling that she was being sneaky. Her time would come, though. But not until the end of the school year, as was tradition with the professors of Defense Against the Dark Arts.

The Room of Requirements had been set up for the evening's activities. In addition to the various torture machines, knives, and other accoutrements, there was a comfy sofa and a table with a tea service and a selection of pastries. After all, he was entertaining a young lady and it wouldn't do to not provide her with suitable comforts.

At exactly ten thirty, he opened the door to find Sally-Anne nervously waiting outside. She'd signed the RSVP and made arrangements to meet him there right before curfew.

"Good evening, Sally-Anne," Harry said with a genial smile. "How was your trip here?"

"Terrifying," she retorted. "I kept feeling like I was going to get caught. And I'm still worried someone's going to turn me in tomorrow."

"That's what Polyjuice is for. I hope you don't mind my taking the liberty, but I have one of my people pretending to be you in the Hufflepuff dorm."

"What, how?"

"I'd be happy to explain later, but right now I would like to proceed with our little party."

Harry offered her his arm, which she accepted cautiously, and he led her into the room. She was momentarily struck with horror at the sight of the torture devices and for a moment her trust in Harry wavered, until she noticed the two bulky figures that were bound on the floor with their heads covered in burlap sacks.

"Do take a seat, Miss Perks," Harry said. "And help yourself to tea and cakes."

Sally-Anne sat on the sofa and watched as Harry dragged the figures up closer, clearly straining slightly from how heavy they were. Harry then picked up two buckets of water, which he dumped, one at a time, on either figure. The figures sputtered and coughed as they were awoken in their bindings. That was when Harry ripped the bags off their heads and revealed them to be Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Sally-Anne's initial fear at the sight of her tormentors was quickly overcome by a deep loathing as she remembered every abuse they had inflicted on her and the knowledge that they couldn't harm her now had finally sunk in.

"Wha?" said Crabbe.

"Whas goin' on?" said Goyle.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Harry said cheerfully.

"Potter!"

"Very good, you both learned how to say my name. Now, all these pleasantries aside, I've got a few questions for you that your dearly departed friend Draco didn't fully answer to my satisfaction."

"Y-you killed him, didn't you?" Crabbe stammered out.

"Oh, well done, Mr. Crabbe," Harry said with a slow, mocking applause. "Did you figure that out all by yourself?"

"W-what d'you want, Potter?" Goyle asked fearfully. He was used to being in control over the people he and Crabbe tormented; he never thought he'd be in a vulnerable position himself.

"Names, dates, etcetera," Harry rambled of, as mildly as if he were discussing the weather. "Dear Miss Perks over here told me about what you filthy bastards did to her."

Sally-Anne fought back a wince, but then schooled her features. Harry had warned her in his note that she should be prepared to witness terrible things, but a kind of malicious glee settled into her as it dawned on her what exactly the implements of torture were for. While she had been wary in the beginning (still trying to shake off the heart-wrenching despair that had led her to attempting to end her own life), she remembered what happened to Malfoy and that had been what made her start to put her faith in Harry Potter.

"What I want to know is if you did the same to any other girls," Harry continued. "Believe me, I have ways of making you talk."

* * *

Albus Dumbledore leaned back in his wingchair and stroked his beard thoughtfully. The attack on young Draco Malfoy had been a terrible tragedy. That boy had so much potential, so much to live for. While it was true that young Draco had been on a Dark path, he could easily have changed his ways and come back to the Light. Dumbledore's greatest aspiration for the young man was to lead him to becoming another Severus Snape, repentant for all the horrible things he'd been coerced into doing. Such a pity that hope would never come to fruition.

It was like dealing with the Lily Potter situation all over again. While he could never find the evidence to convict the woman, Dumbledore and just about everyone else knew she was responsible for the murders of the fifteen people who had been acquitted from their Death Eater activities. While it was true they were likely guilty, that did not excuse murdering members of already dying families. Those people could have been reformed and allowed to live their lives in peace if they had survived to see the end of the war.

Dumbledore hated to admit it, but he was actually rather glad that Lily Potter was gone. Even after he'd spent all that time wiping and altering Lily's and James' memories so they wouldn't dare use lethal force to protect themselves and their son from Voldemort when they went into hiding, he didn't feel safe allowing Lily Potter to go back into the Auror Corps. And changing Lily's memories had not been an easy task, in fact she'd nearly killed _him_ in the process. But he simply couldn't allow the Chosen One of the prophecy to escape his fate, even if that meant the boy had to grow up without his parents.

Still, the murder of young Draco was so eerily similar to Lily Potter's methods as to worry him. In fact, if Dumbledore didn't know better, he'd think that young Harry had something to do with it, being Lily's son and all. But he quickly dismissed the idea; Harry was far too kind, noble, self-sacrificing, and honorable to do anything remotely like that.

* * *

"Thank you very much for your information, gentlemen," Harry said, casually wiping off a bloody knife and making a mental note to have the rack sanitized.

It had taken a good couple of hours, but Crabbe and Goyle had cracked. Harry was actually amazed they'd held off as long as they had, but in the end he gotten more information for his "Little List." Plus, he got the full details on Crabbe and Goyle's crimes.

Aiding Draco in violent attacks on muggle-born students. Sexual assault of three first-year girls in Hufflepuff, two in Gryffindor, two in Ravenclaw, and one in Slytherin. Participation in sexual attacks on Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass in Slytherin (the goons had primarily been used by Draco to restrain the girls while he raped them). Conspiracy to assist in the rape of a minor (Draco had gotten his engagement to Astoria Greengrass, a second-year, approved and fully intended to take advantage of the situation). Rape of twelve other muggle-born and half-blood girls from each of the four Houses in all but seventh year (including Sally-Anne).

Sally-Anne herself had quickly lost any aversion to watching Harry conduct his interrogation. That cold, vengeful part of her that wanted to watch her abusers suffer for all they'd done had led her to watching in silent amusement as Harry brutally tortured them as if she were watching something entertaining on the telly over a late tea. Besides, the pastries did look good and she was rather partial to Victoria Sponge.

"However, I'm afraid we cannot allow you to live," Harry added.

"What?!" Goyle screamed. "But-but you…"

"Did we ever say anything about releasing you? After what you've done?" Harry tutted at them. "And here I thought you'd gotten a bit of intelligence. Oh well." He picked up the longest, sharpest knife in his collection.

"Um, Harry?" Sally-Anne said softly, rising and approaching slowly.

"Yes, Sally-Anne?"

"I was wondering…could I, maybe, do the honors?"

"Oh, of course, how thoughtless of me." He handed her the knife. "You are my guest, after all."

* * *

The students were hastily ushered back to their common rooms as the professors cleared the way for the aurors. Two bodies had been discovered this time, horribly mutilated to the point where the only way to identify them was due to the headcount of students. Messrs. Crabbe and Goyle had died in a manner far more horrific even than that of Draco Malfoy.

"What did the monster do this time?" Umbridge demanded.

"It was horrible, Madam," said the auror, a different one than last time. "One of the rookies had to be taken out because he started throwing up at the sight of it."

"I don't care about that! I want to know what happened!"

The auror held her fist up to her mouth for a moment, as though trying to stop _herself_ from being sick at the thought.

"The coroner reported that the two boys were strung up on something and pulled until their tendons broke," she said. "They were then apparently fastened into some sort of chair covered in sharp points. We can tell because the point marks are only present on the back sides of their bodies. They were kept in that position for an extended period, during which they were repeatedly bludgeoned, cut, and had their fingers crushed by some sort of metal device. After that, the attacker cut off both their, um…genitals and shoved them down their throats."

"Actually, a slight correction there," said the coroner, exiting the Great Hall. "Each boy's genitals were shoved down the _other's_ throat."

The auror gagged a bit and Umbridge's current complexion only heightened her similarity of appearance to the toad she was so often compared with.

"Right, thank you, Coroner Jenkins," said the auror, collecting herself once more. "After that was done, the murderer…I can't say it." She started gagging again.

The coroner rolled her eyes.

"The cause of death was repeated sodomy with a sharp object," the coroner explained. "Most likely a knife. No evidence of magic on either body. They were simply left to bleed out in the Great Hall."

"Then how did no one hear them?!" said Umbridge, fighting back the bile in her own throat.

"Well, would you be able to scream if you had a dick shoved down _your_ throat? Granted they weren't very large, but…"

"Coroner Jenkins, please," said the auror. "A little respect for the dead."

"Hard to respect them after we found that list."

"What list?" both the auror and Umbridge asked.

"Oh, sorry, that's what I came out here to tell you. We found a document nearby the bodies. It was a list of crimes they'd committed against fellow students. Here you are." She handed the document to the auror.

"Oh my Merlin!"

Umbridge yanked the list out of the auror's hands and read the detailed compilation of the crimes the young men had committed, as well as those of young Malfoy. Not that she cared about mudbloods or half-blood bastards, but two daughters of distinguished families had been assaulted. When word got back to Cyrus Greengrass and Walter Davis that their daughters had been raped…

"This entire situation just keeps getting more and more disturbing," said the auror. "I'd better consult with Watkins. He was in charge of the last investigation. And Head Auror Scrimgeour and Madam Bones are not going to be happy."

Umbridge rubbed her forehead and tried to fight back the awful headache that was forming. She'd already had to deal with Lucius Malfoy's tirade about the death of his son and was not looking forward to informing Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle about their own sons. Still, she was in a bind. Mr. Davis and Mr. Greengrass were going to be apoplectic with rage over the attacks on their daughters and would probably start calling for a pardon for whoever had killed the boys responsible. Umbridge herself was caught between the proverbial rock and hard place.

All in all, this was not what she'd hoped for when she agreed to work for the ministry in Hogwarts.

* * *

Harry sent off a letter with Dobby to Luna, thanking her for filling in for him again. While it was a good thing he had someone to give him an alibi, it did pain him to know that Luna's dorm mates took so little notice of her that she wasn't missed from her own dormitory. Luna had become very devoted to Harry since she started helping him with his plans, grateful to finally have a friend in her life.

Actually, it had been Luna's idea of how to provide Sally-Anne with an alibi of her own. Up until the moment she suggested it, Harry had no idea that Polyjuice could work on house elves as he'd believed it was only capable of transforming humans. Luna had pointed out that it was only for human _transformations_ , the person taking the potion need not be human. Dobby had been perfectly happy to volunteer if it meant helping "Harry Potter sir."

There was something very satisfying about a job well done, even if that job was torture and murder. While there was still a part of him, deeply buried, that objected to such methods, the prevailing part of his personality was rather smug and contented with what he'd achieved. It was only the first term back at Hogwarts and he'd already eliminated three aspiring Death Eaters. That hard work deserved a little stress-relief, and there was nothing like pulling a prank on the old headmaster to relax oneself.

* * *

Dumbledore sighed tiredly as he headed up to his office. It had been a very long day dealing with hysterical mothers, raging fathers, a bunch of nosy aurors, and that damned Umbridge woman all expecting him to answer the same questions over and over. Sometimes it was hard being a bastion of the Light, but he handled the situation with his usual flair and diverted all uncomfortable queries and paperwork to Minerva, as was expected of a headmaster of his caliber.

Opening the door to his office, he knew something was wrong when a flood of brightly-colored bowling balls rained down upon him, breaking numerous bones and causing him grievous bodily harm. At least he could appreciate the color scheme of the bowling balls, they were very lurid and he needed something to be optimistic about as he was subjected to such an agonizing surprise.

He managed to right himself after only tripping over the balls three more times and vanished them. Stumbling into his office, he realized something else was wrong; all his furniture had been fastened to the ceiling and all the portraits had been turned upside-down. Several attempts to return things to normal through magic proved that someone had used a very powerful sticking charm.

It was really not looking like a good evening for Albus Dumbledore. He wouldn't find out until later that someone had coated his precious sherbet lemons in clear nail varnish, completely eliminating their flavor and making them harder than rocks.


	7. Our Resident Djinn

The Purge

 **Instead of disclaimers, I'm posting trigger warnings. Mentions of child abuse in this chapter.**

 **Also, Harry may be homicidal, but he's still a teenage boy.**

 **Title is a Gilbert and Sullivan reference (as was "Behold the Lord High Executioner").**

 **Oh, and a side note. I have sad news for the people who have been following "What Should Have Happened in Harry Potter." It seems the Fanfiction administrators felt the story violated the guidelines and deleted it.**

You've but to Look in on Our Resident Djinn

Harry was used to awkward stares. He was even used to people following him. So the attempt of the two Slytherin girls to sneak up and catch him alone was rather pitiful. However, he decided to play along with their little game and led them to a somewhat secluded stretch of hallway, after first ascertaining that Sally-Anne had noticed this and started following the two girls in case they tried anything.

"Potter!" one of the girls finally called out.

Harry gave a short sigh, his hand already hovering over his wand in case of an attack, and turned to face Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis. What surprised him, though, was that neither seemed angry and both had some sort of boxes tucked under their arms.

"Miss Davis, Miss Greengrass," Harry greeted evenly.

"Mr. Potter, we aren't sure how you did it, but we know you were involved in the deaths of Draco and his two goons," said Daphne.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Come off it, Potter," said Tracey. "Your Golden Boy routine may work on some but we know you either were the one who did it or you know who did it."

"Let's just say that you weren't the only girls who were hurt," Harry said, glancing quickly at Sally-Anne Perks who was standing just up the hall. "What makes you so certain that _I_ was the one behind the murders, though?"

"Most people hated Malfoy enough to want the little bastard dead," said Daphne. "But it would take someone with skills worthy of Salazar himself to get away with it. You may look like a typical Gryffindor, but word on the grapevine is it's just a cover."

"A number of Slytherins think you may be responsible," Tracey added. "But so many of us are terrified of what you might do to us if we attempted to rat you out, not that anyone even has any proof it was you. Daphne and I have decided that, as long as you're not going to hurt us or our families, we will cooperate with you in whatever schemes you may be devising. It's the least we can do for the one who avenged our honor, even if you didn't do it for us specifically."

"I'm not going to commit myself to an answer," said Harry. "But as long as you haven't harmed any innocents or don't interfere in justice being delivered on those who _did_ , I'm reasonably certain whoever is behind the attacks will leave you and your loved ones in peace."

At that point, the two girls shoved the boxes they'd been holding into his arms.

"What're these?"

"Peace offerings," said Daphne. "While no one in my family is a Death Eater, we do have some…questionable spells. You'll find a compilation of some of the more useful ones in my gift."

"My family mostly deals with wards," said Tracey. "There are some extremely valuable ward-breaking tools in that box, Potter. _Don't_ lose them."

"And you're giving these to me because…?" said Harry.

"Do we have to spell it out for you, Potter?" said Tracey, clearly irritated. "As Slytherins, we know what side to back. Consider this a sign of our good faith."

"Well, thank very much, Miss Davis, Miss Greengrass."

"Oh, and, Potter, I'm sure you know by now which Slytherins are of the same ilk as Malfoy and his goons. However, I happen to know a few more names from other houses. I'd be willing to share them with you."

"Thank you, Miss Davis," said Harry. "Shall we discuss it after dinner this evening?"

Daphne and Tracey exchanged looks.

"Why, Mr. Potter, are you asking me on a date?" said Tracey.

Harry blushed and sputtered.

"Eight o'clock in the Astronomy Tower," Tracey said with a grin. "Don't be late."

* * *

Voldemort rubbed the bridge of where his nose would be if he had one. It had been an extremely frustrating few weeks. Three old magical bloodlines ended; not that Crabbe and Goyle were the perfect poster boys for pureblood society, and the Malfoy spawn was such an annoying little shit that Voldemort would probably have killed the boy himself, but the fact remained that someone had the audacity to kill three of his future recruits.

That could not go unpunished.

It was like the late seventies all over again. The mysterious person who'd been bumping off his Death Eaters in the middle of the night and had never been caught. Lucius even said that he'd been hiding when the person attacked Malfoy Manor once and had witnessed them killed his cousin Cassius Malfoy. The attacker, a woman according to the account, had allegedly ripped Cassius Malfoy's skull out and beat him to death with it.

When Voldemort reminded Lucius that such a thing was not physically possible, the man had said with a shudder: "That's what Cassius thought, too."

There had been a suspicion running rampant that it was the mudblood Lily Potter who had perpetrated those acts. Voldemort himself had three times faced Lily Potter in battle and had been furious at how close she came to defeating him; not that she could've killed him, what with his horcruxes. It had surprised him, though, how she didn't fight back when he attacked in Godric's Hollow back in '81. That alone should have made him suspicious and was probably why he ended up disembodied for thirteen years.

Still, he doubted that Lily Potter could've been behind the murders of his Death Eaters. And it was impossible that she had any hand in the more recent attacks. The possibility that her son might have anything to do with them was so ridiculous Voldemort would have laughed if anyone suggested it. There was no way Dumbledore's Golden Boy would have the guts to kill anyone, which was precisely why the brat was going to die at Voldemort's hands.

* * *

The attacker struck eight more times over the following weeks. Each victim was a male from Slytherin, each one had done horrific things to other students, and each one died slowly and painfully. No matter what they did, the DMLE couldn't figure out who the culprit was. Several more days passed and two pureblood boys from Ravenclaw were found mutilated; lists of their crimes against their fellow students were pinned to their chests.

Umbridge was fuming. In her rage, she'd attempted to have the aurors arrest Harry Potter; the boy had been far to cheerful lately and it only stood to reason, in her mind, that he was the guilty party. However, as it was illegal to question an underage student under Veritaserum without consent from their guardian, Harry simply had to bring up his alibi. Umbridge's accusations fell apart within minutes.

Still, the school was left with a terrible problem, and Dumbledore himself was feeling the greatest strain. How was he to convince people that Voldemort was back when he couldn't even convince them that he could stop the rampant murders at his school? There was increasing pressure from the parents to either have him removed or to close down Hogwarts entirely.

"Attention, students," he announced at breakfast one morning in mid-October. "As I am sure you aware, we have been having a series of unpleasant…incidents here at Hogwarts. I assure you, we are doing all in our power to put an end to these attacks."

"Yeah, like you did such a great job three years ago!" someone shouted from the mass of students, causing discontent to rumble through the crowd.

"Please, everyone, settle down," Dumbledore continued. "We are still in the middle of an investigation. I promise you that this will all be sorted out in due time. However, I have been informed that if there is so much as one more incident, the Board of Governors will be taking severe action."

Harry fought to suppress his smirk. One more attack and the old bastard would be booted from the school is what Dumbledore meant. It was clear just by looking at the headmaster that he was on thin ice over a piranha-infested lake whilst being weighed down with an anchor. In all honesty, Harry really couldn't care less what happened to Dumbledore; the man had long been overdue for retirement, if not being imprisoned for his incompetence.

"If anyone has any information about the attacks, I urge you in the strongest possible sense to come forward. Thank you."

* * *

Theodore Nott was no idiot; in fact, he was probably the last genuinely Slytherin boy left in his house. Well, he and Blaise Zabini, but Theodore had a disadvantage that Blaise didn't have. While Theodore Nott hadn't done anything himself and personally didn't give a rat's arse about pureblood dogma, he was fully aware of the fact that his father was a Death Eater. So, the only sensible thing he could do to avoid the fate he knew was coming was to meet with the one person who could save his life.

"Um, Potter, can I speak with you?"

Theo flinched a bit under the glares from the Gryffindor table as Harry stood and followed him out of the Great Hall. Theo knew very well that Potter only followed him because he knew he was the most dangerous thing around and that Theo wouldn't stand a chance if he tried anything.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Nott?" Harry said after putting up some privacy charms.

"I know you're the one behind the attacks."

"Well, you certainly are straightforward, aren't you?"

Theo tried to make himself look as small as possible, not easy when Potter was a full head shorter.

"The thing is, I wanted to come right to the point and tell you that I never did anything like what those others did."

"But you held your silence on it and didn't report it, did you?"

"I did! I told Snape about what those bastards Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle did to Daphne and Tracey but he just dismissed it. He said that I was just making it up and that, even if it _was_ true, that's what girls are supposed to be used for. I think he may even have done as much to students himself. I don't have any solid proof, but I've heard things. I'm certain it's happened to some of the older Slytherin girls, but I don't know about the other houses."

Harry grit his teeth. Snape was going to suffer a slow and agonizing death. True, he was already on Harry's list, but now he was bumped a few steps up the ladder until he hovered just under Voldemort.

"Thank you for telling me this, but why do you care?"

Theo shuffled his feet nervously.

"My father is a Death Eater," he admitted with a resigned sigh. "It would be impossible to deny that, especially to _you_. But I am not like him, I don't want to be anything like him. My father is a monster who's not above hurting his own family. He killed my brother Daniel when he found out he was a Squib. Cut his throat right in front of us. He beat my mother to death with a Bludgeoning Hex because she gave birth to a daughter, my baby sister Eleanor. I have an older sister, Francine, but my father kept her out of Hogwarts to 'homeschool' her as a cover for what he's actually doing."

"And what _has_ he been doing?" Harry's voice was now as cold as ice.

"He's used her since she was eight as a way of making deals with other Dark families," Theo said, clenching his fists. "It's part of an old and _illegal_ pureblood tradition. She's nothing more than prostitute for my father to use to cement his alliances and back-room negotiations. I saw one of these deals take place when I was only seven. I heard her screaming as I watched, helpless, from where I was hiding. I couldn't stop it; I couldn't save her from it."

Theo's eyes were filled with angry tears.

"I just want you promise that, when you go after the adult Death Eaters, that you make my father's death as horrific as possible but spare my sisters. God only knows what's been happening to Eleanor while I've been here at Hogwarts."

Harry paused for a moment and stuck out his hand, which Theo eagerly shook.

* * *

Harry was now in a bind. His list only seemed to be growing and he needed to take action against the adult Death Eaters soon. Snape was a dead man walking, but Harry couldn't touch him while Dumbledore was still running the show. However, that could be easily taken care of. He just had to create a distraction that would draw the attention of the aurors from Hogwarts so that he could set Dumbledore up for a dramatic fall.

Thankfully, the Nott situation would be useful. He would take down a Death Eater, save some innocents, draw attention away from Hogwarts, and be able set up Dumbledore's dismissal from the school before the first class on Tuesday. All in a day's work, really.

* * *

Hermione looked with concern at her best friend who was currently fast asleep in the middle of History of Magic. She suspected that Harry hadn't been getting much sleep and she doubted he was studying. No, she had begun to suspect that Harry was seeing someone and hadn't bothered to tell her! Hermione had noticed Harry was spending an unusual amount of time away from her and Ron (though the latter was more understandable, considering Ron still hadn't apologized), often in the company of girls Hermione hadn't thought Harry even knew the name of. When she shook him awake at the end of class, he hopped out of his seat and headed straight for the door, only for Hermione to grab him and drag him off down the corridor to a secluded spot to give him a piece of her mind.

"All right, Harry James Potter, I want answers and I want them now," she said.

"Hermione, please, I've had a long night's studying and I'm very-"

"Don't even think of pulling the 'I was studying' line on me, Harry Potter. I know exactly what you are up to."

"You do?" Harry said nervously, thumbing his wand and dreading the thought of having to Obliviate his best friend.

"Yes, I do. And I am outraged that you didn't think to tell me."

"Well, it's not exactly something that's easy to talk about."

"You know you can tell me anything, Harry," Hermione said, sounding exasperated. "I could have helped you, but you didn't even think to bring it up."

"Wait, so you're okay with what I'm doing?"

"What you choose to do in your spare time is up to you, Harry, but it's important that you at least let me know so I won't worry about you when you stay out all night."

"How do you know-?"

"Oh please, the person who's shown up in the common room to give you an alibi is so obviously Luna Lovegood, Polyjuiced to look like you. The only reason no one else has figured it out is because almost everyone in Gryffindor is an idiot, or else so worried about the exams next semester that they don't pay attention."

"So, you'd really like to help me with what I'm doing?"

"Of course I would, Harry. You know I'd support you in anything."

"Great! Because I need an extra hand when I go to torture Mr. Nott to death and get his two daughters out of their abusive environment tonight."

"Wait, what?" Hermione's said, not sure she understood what she'd just heard.

"You said you'd help me with my purge of the magical world. As I just told you, we're hitting Nott's house and setting up something to get Dumbledore booted from Hogwarts. Come on, I'll introduce you to my fellow conspirators." He grabbed her hand and cheerily led her down the hallway.

Hermione's brain, meanwhile, had just gone completely blank for the first time in her entire life.


	8. Lessons to Frighten and Instruct

The Purge

 **TW: Violence, sedition, and a smidgeon of teen drama.**

Lessons to Frighten and Instruct

"Madam Bones?" came the nervous voice of Scrimgeour from outside the door.

"Come in, Rufus," Amelia said with a resigned sigh.

Scrimgeour cautiously opened the door and entered to find Madam Bones slumped over a desk littered with papers. She'd clearly been there all night.

"Let me guess," she added. "Another attack at Hogwarts, right?"

"Actually, ma'am, it's a new case," said Scrimgeour uncertainly. "At least, we think it might be new. It has the same elements of the Hogwarts attacks, but this one took place at a private residence. I was hoping you would look over the evidence with me. You always had the keenest eyes of any of us back in training."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Rufus." She gave another short sigh. "I suppose I had better, though. The entire department seems to be focusing on this one mess. The sooner we solve it and get the killer behind bars, the sooner we can go back to the usual raids on Knockturn Alley and the tedious paperwork."

"Oh, joy," Scrimgeour muttered.

The two seasoned veterans vanished into the Floo, reappearing in the sitting room of the Nott family estate. It was a very old building as the Notts were second only to the Malfoys in wealth and status. However, Amelia doubted the Malfoys' living room was spattered in fresh blood and had a mutilated corpse in the center of the rug. At least, she didn't think it was _just then_.

"Auror Shacklebolt, report," said Madam Bones.

"The victim is Thaddeus Nott," Shacklebolt replied, visibly somewhat shaken. "From what the coroner said, it seems the man was dragged from his room during the night and restrained to that chair by the fireplace. His assailant apparently blinded him with a red-hot poker and then cut each of his fingers off. He was also, ahem…"

"What, Auror Shacklebolt?"

"He was, um…sodomized with the poker."

Amelia grimaced as she looked at the body to confirm that, yes, the eyes were bloody, puss-filled sockets and the hands reduced to gory stumps. She couldn't see the poker, though, as the body was partly covered in a white sheet. She was grateful for that; the last thing she wanted to see first thing in the morning was Thaddeus Nott's perforated rectum.

She also noticed another, very obvious thing the attacker did, even as Shacklebolt continued in his report. In very precise, very deep letters, the murderer had carved the words 'Daughter-raping, son-murdering, Death Eater bastard.' Shacklebolt explained that the man had still been alive when it happened.

The method of execution was being stabbed through the throat and left to bleed out. While seemingly merciful compared to what he endured during his torture, the blood-analysis showed that he'd been forced to take a potion that kept him conscious until his point of death. He'd been dead less than an hour before being discovered.

"What does the carving on Nott's chest refer to?" said Amelia. She had a deep feeling of dread. This wasn't just a random attack, the killer knew exactly who he was going after and why. The message itself was fairly self-explanatory, but she wanted _all_ the facts.

"We were informed that something was amiss when Nott's two daughters appeared in St. Mungo's," said Shacklebolt. "We weren't aware that there was something seriously wrong until the eldest girl woke up."

"Right, it's almost 8.30 now," Amelia said thoughtfully. "What time did the girls arrive at the hospital?"

"At 5.30, ma'am. Francine Nott awoke at around 6.45 and, when asked where her father was, she said he wouldn't be hurting her anymore. The hospital informed us immediately and we were here just before 7.00."

"And then you began the investigation, after which Rufus came to find _me_. I see. Have the healers examined the Nott sisters?"

"Yes, Madam Bones. The eldest girl, Francine, has evidence of repeated sexual assault, as well as scarring on various parts of her body. Also, there were signs that she endured a magically-induced abortion three years ago. All this occurred over the course of the last ten years. The younger girl, Eleanor, has signs of malnutrition and bruising but, thankfully, no signs of sexual assault."

Amelia gave a deep sigh. It really was like the late seventies again. If Lily were there right now, she'd be making some scathing comment about how they should probably give the murderer a trophy for getting rid of a _real_ monster. Amelia was almost disappointed in herself for mentally agreeing. Almost.

"What about the other claims in the…inscription?" she continued.

"A search of the house revealed a grave in the cellar," said Shacklebolt. "We're waiting on news from that, but we suspect the remains are those of Daniel Nott. The child went missing not long after his eleventh birthday. There were rumors he was born a squib and…well, you know how many of the older families treat squibs."

Amelia nodded. She'd had to deal with more than a fair share of those cases. Those were often the worst.

"As for the 'Death Eater' claim. We found a Dark Mark on his arm and a list of crimes the man admitted to was set over on the table there."

Again, Amelia gave a nod and dismissed Shacklebolt to his duties. She wished she could muster up the will to feel some measure of compassion for the victim, but to be honest she really couldn't and was actually rather satisfied with how Nott met his end. Not only had the man been a menace, constantly harassing her department and moving to cut their funding, she also had a personal issue with him.

Nott had been one of those who had claimed Imperius after the war and clearly had the funds to grease enough palms to secure his release. One of the accusations that had been levied against him before he was acquitted was suspected involvement in the murder of one of Amelia's brothers, Edgar Bones, and his family. In Amelia's opinion, turnabout was fair play.

She and Scrimgeour went back through the Floo to discuss the case, only to be met in her office by a frantic junior auror.

"Madam Bones! Head Auror Scrimgeour!" the girl said frantically. "Thank Merlin you're back! It's an emergency!"

"What is it?" said Scrimgeour. "Speak clearly, girl!"

"It's Hogwarts, sir!"

"Another murder?"

"No, sir. There's a riot!"

* * *

Even with all their years of experience, the aurors who marched into Hogwarts that day had never seen anything quite like it. Students from every house were on some sort of rampage, cursing each other and the professors seemingly at random. Though, when Amelia looked closely, she noticed some of the students were operating in teams.

It was only the fact that she was a hardened veteran with rock-like self-composure that prevented her from slapping her own face in embarrassment when she saw her niece, Susan, leading a group of Hufflepuffs while wielding a giant axe.

"SHOW NO MERCY!"

The aurors who knew who the crazed little redhead was (which happened, in that case, to be all of them) looked to Madam Bones in obvious apprehension. Not one of them was willing to point a wand at her niece, but young Susan and her team were clearly the most dangerous group at that time. Sighing in resignation, Amelia stepped forward and caught Susan by the scruff of her robes as she attempted to run by.

"Susan Bones," Amelia practically growled. "What do you think you are doing?"

"The revolution will not be defeated!" Susan declared as she struggled in her aunt's iron grip. "We shall be vindicated!"

Amelia pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand and gave another deep sigh.

"What exactly are you fighting about?" she asked.

"Freedom from the dastardly Pink Toad! And to bring honor and glory to the White-Beared Wizard!"

* * *

Harry smirked to himself as he watched the chaos unfold in the Great Hall. He himself was safely concealed within a secret room beside the hall, observing the events through a window that was charmed on the other side to resemble nothing but an empty stretch of wall. Hermione, Luna, Sally-Anne, Tracey, Daphne, and Theo were also sharing his refuge so as not to get caught up in the insanity outside. Allies tend to be more cooperative when they're not used as props in a magical prank, after all.

It had been laughably easy arranging it. Ron had actually been a key in the whole thing. Harry and Hermione had convinced Ron that the only way to win back the school was to start an uprising, giving the ministry the very army they feared. An army loyal to Dumbledore. Ron was already a Dumbledore fanatic, all they had to do was layer on a couple extra Compulsions and give him a prod in the right direction and he was ready to launch a crusade.

The trickiest part had been convincing the house elves to allow them to spike the breakfast with loyalty potions. The house elves did agree, though, when they realized it was for a prank that would likely result in a monumental mess that would have to be cleaned up. Hermione had made a fuss about involving the house elves, but was silenced when Harry inquired of her if she could think of a better plan.

Ordinarily, loyalty potions were distributed in small doses so as to not be noticed. When applied in large quantities, they could cause delusions and even full-blown hallucinations. That was exactly what Harry needed. With the food heavily doused in loyalty potions (most tied to Dumbledore and a few to the ministry, the latter of which would be removed before the aurors got there so as to draw the focus solely to Dumbledore), the students would be ready for when Ron set off the proverbial powder keg the moment he walked into breakfast.

The result was more beautiful than Harry had ever anticipated.

* * *

"Let me see if I have all the facts straight," said Amelia.

Amelia and several members of the faculty were in the headmaster's office while the aurors continued to round up the rampaging students. Umbridge was in a terrible state and incredibly angry, the headmaster was looking thoroughly distraught, and Snape had a toilet seat still magically glued to his head. Only McGonagall seemed unfazed by the events.

"Everything seemed normal at breakfast," Amelia continued. "The students were maybe a little more energetic than usual, but nothing seemed suspicious. When a student, identified as one Ronald Weasley, entered the Great Hall, he launched into a tirade against the ministry and raised a wand to Professor Umbridge here. Is that correct?"

"I demand that boy be expelled!" the furious woman shouted. "He and that Potter boy! They're the ones behind this!"

"There is no proof that Harry Potter was involved in any of this," said McGonagall sternly.

"Potter and Weasley are friends. At the very least, the Potter boy should be interrogated."

"Please, calm down," said Dumbledore. "No one was severely hurt. Let us simply regard this as a well-intentioned but misguided prank. There's no need for alarm."

"Everyone!" an auror shouted as he came running into the office. "Come quickly! There's been another murder!"

* * *

Pansy Parkinson was dead.

In the midst of the investigation concerning the student rebellion, no one had noticed the girl go missing. The killer had taken advantage of the confusion to abduct her, torture her, kill her, and then dump the body in a corridor.

Well, 'dump' wasn't really the right word. Strung her up on a meat hook was more like it. Her death, while grisly, was not nearly as horrible as those of the male victims. However, she did have the word 'SCUM' carved into her chest and a list of crimes pinned to the remnants of her robes.

"This is the last straw!" said Umbridge. "Albus Dumbledore cannot be trusted to keep the students safe. I demand his immediate resignation!"

"Why didn't anyone realize Miss Parkinson was gone?" Snape said furiously.

"The school was in chaos, Severus," said McGonagall. "You yourself were under considerably heavy fire, if I remember correctly."

Snape grumbled to himself. Likely promising a dire retribution for the students who had dared to attack him.

"What I still don't understand," said Amelia, "is why the students went into such a frenzy over what one person said. They seemed almost delusional."

"I can answer that," said a voice behind them. It was one of the senior aurors, a man named 'Wilson,' who was also the team's forensics expert. "As the incident was instigated over breakfast, I felt the most sensible thing to do would be to check the food for potions."

"I take it that you found some, Auror Wilson?"

"Indeed, yes. High concentrations of a loyalty potion keyed to none other than Headmaster Albus Dumbledore."

All heads turned to a now very nervous headmaster.

"Um…I can explain?" he said.

"Arrest him!" Umbridge screamed.

"Sorry, Albus," said Amelia. "But I'm afraid the evidence is not in your favor. Cuff him, Wilson."

"Ah, yes, I was afraid we might hit this little snag," said Dumbledore. "You seem to be laboring under the delusion that I am going to – what is the phrase – 'Come quietly.' I am afraid I am not going to -"

He was cut off as Wilson shot him with a stunner, causing him to hit the floor with a loud "thud."

"You can't do this to the headmaster," McGonagall exclaimed.

"I think you'll find, Professor McGonagall, that we can and must," said Amelia. "It is our duty to detain him and if you interfere then I will have to arrest you as well. I hate to do this, but it's the law."

They were suddenly interrupted by Fawkes appearing in a flash of flames and then vanishing with the headmaster.

"What the bloody hell?" said Wilson. "That phoenix stole our suspect! Damn things can apparate and disapparate whenever they want. That's just not fair."

"Evading arrest," said Amelia. "This is really not looking good for the old man."

"You don't honestly think Albus had anything to do with this girl's death, do you?" said McGonagall.

"While I doubt he actually committed the murder, the potions in the students' food suggests he was involved. Even if indirectly. I am sorry, Professor McGonagall, but until there is any new evidence, Albus Dumbledore is our lead suspect in this case."

"I demand that a Kiss-On-Sight order be given to the dementors," said Umbridge. "That man cannot be allowed to run amok! Who knows what damage he could do?!"

"Well, maybe the worst is over for now," suggested Wilson hopefully. "I mean, he is supposed to be the most powerful wizard alive. If he's not the one orchestrating these murders, who else could possibly be behind them?"

* * *

Meanwhile, a young Gryffindor boy was escorting a young Slytherin girl to her dormitory.

"That was a pretty bold thing, killing Parkinson like that."

"I felt the spectacle needed something to top it off. You know, to drive the final nail into Dumbledore's coffin."

"Why 'SCUM', though? There were so many more interesting epithets you could have carved into her."

"I was strapped for time and it was fitting since she always called me that for having a half-blood mother," said Tracey.

"I'm just surprised you were the one to take the initiative," said Harry. "I would've expected it to be Sally-Anne or Luna who would add their own flair to the mix."

"Not Granger?"

"Hermione's only just getting involved in these antics. I may have accidentally traumatized her a little at the Nott residence."

"Thanks for inviting me to be a part of this."

"Thanks for getting rid of Parkinson for me. I admit that killing women is one thing I feel reluctant to do. I can kill blokes no problem, but women?"

"Double-standard, Potter."

"Only a little, Miss Davis. I may be a homicidal maniac, but I do still have my Gryffindor chivalry."

"If you were so interested in being chivalrous, then you would have challenged your victims to a fair duel."

"Good point. I'll try to keep your advice in mind in the future."

Tracey smiled quietly to herself, trying to ignore the warmth in her stomach when she glanced at him.


	9. Mischief Night

The Purge

 **A mandatory Halloween chapter. Well, technically it's the night before Halloween.**

 **TW: Violence, mentions of sexual assault against children. Also some teen drama and inappropriate use of sugar, bees, and flies.**

Mischief Night

Halloween had never been a good time for Harry. In fact, Harry could quite honestly say that Halloween had fucked up his life on more than one occasion. He truly, deeply hated the holiday. And he didn't understand why it was so popular with wizards; in muggle Britain, it was only popular maybe sixty percent of the time as many people thought of it as being some made up American holiday. All right, he would admit there was an ancient precedent for it, but the entire thing was just derived from a bunch of superstitious primitives who thought they could chase ghosts and fairies back to the spirit world by dressing up in stupid costumes and getting riotously drunk.

At least the candy they served at the Hogwarts Halloween feast was something of a compensation. Harry wondered if he could sneak some razor-blades into the candied apples near some of his remaining targets. After all, why should Harry be the only miserable person on Halloween?

"I can understand why you'd hate this time of year," Tracey said as they had lunch together by the Black Lake. It wasn't a date; it was a strategy meeting! "I would too if my parents had been murdered on Halloween."

"Or if people started thinking you were a Dark Lord because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time," Harry added. "Or if your name came out of an enchanted goblet and got you roped into a crazy tournament that nearly got you killed."

"Or if it coincided with a certain pink toad being made dictator of Hogwarts."

"I think the title is 'High Inquisitor.'"

"Who cares? How long is she gonna last anyway?"

"Most of the year. Possibly until the last week or so of school."

"That long?"

"Tradition. The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor always lasts until the end of the year when they make a big attempt to kill or maim me in some way."

"That's actually happened? I thought that was just a rumor the Hufflepuffs started."

"Hufflepuffs?"

"It's _always_ the 'Puffs, Harry. And do we really have to wait so long to get rid of Umbridge? Because I've worked out some great ideas for how to deal with her. My favorite involves a jar of rats that we can glue to her face. Then we blowtorch the other end of the jar…"

As Harry listened to Tracey recount her vivid and brutal description of her preferred method of murdering Professor Umbridge, he couldn't help but notice how lovely her sapphire blue eyes were as they were overcome by unholy bloodlust.

* * *

"Knives?"

"Check!"

"Duct tape?"

"Check!"

"Petrol?"

"Double-check!"

"Angry, Africanized bees?"

"Check!"

"Rope?"

"Uh, no rope, Harry," said Sally-Anne.

"What?!" said Harry. "How could we not have rope? Rope is an essential item!"

"We could always conjure bindings on our victim when we need them," Hermione suggested.

"What, and leave a magical signature for the aurors to find?"

"Harry, I'm starting to have some reservations about this whole business."

"You promised you'd help me with my plans, Hermione. Are you welching on our agreement?"

Hermione gave a short sigh. Once she'd gotten over the initial horror of the fact that her friend was a psychotic murderer, she'd reasoned to herself that as long as he was only killing people who deserved it then she could overlook his actions as just another of the kooky things her best friend did in his spare time.

"No. But are you really sure that torture and murder are the only way to win the war?"

"Considering who his mum was, it's not really surprising," said Daphne, who sitting down in a nearby armchair reading a book. Harry had assigned her to research as she didn't quite have the stomach for field operations; her current project was finding out what the locket Regulus Black had stolen was (Harry hadn't forgotten about his promise to Kreacher and, having read Regulus' old journal, he knew it was important to defeating Voldemort; though he had no idea what a 'horcrux' was).

"What do you mean by that, Daphne?" said Harry.

"Wait, you don't know? I thought everyone in the wizarding world knew."

"Raised by _muggles_ ," Harry and Hermione said in sync.

"Oh, well, it was never confirmed or anything, but there are stories…"

And so, Daphne gave a brief but vivid account of what she'd heard from her uncle, who had been in the auror corps with Harry's mother. The picture painted of 'Bleeding Lily' left Harry considerable food for thought. If his mother was so notorious for her violence, why in hell did he remember her pleading for mercy from Voldemort instead of blasting him to bits? Something fishy was definitely going on.

"Harry, where should I stow the piranhas?" Sally-Anne asked.

* * *

Jarvis Avery was just sitting down to dinner. His brother Leopold couldn't make it as he'd been called away to a meeting with the Dark Lord. It was just as well, it meant he wouldn't have to sit through idle chit-chat before being able to enjoy his evening _entertainment_. At least his brother came through for him on that front, thanks to Leopold's contact at the ministry. While Jarvis himself was an auror, he wasn't privy to all the information in his department.

He was just pouring himself a glass of wine when he heard a slight 'thump' in the other room. His senses went on high alert. He'd heard about what happened to Nott and he wasn't going to go down easily. Memories of the previous war surfaced in his mind of the phantom figure who'd butchered many of his Death Eater comrades. Could it be back? He'd thought – hoped – it had perished during the last war.

The noise sounded again, louder and closer. Again, closer still. He couldn't move; he told himself that he didn't want to give away his position. Again, it was right outside the door. The handle started shaking violently. Then it all stopped.

Silence. A loud kind of silence.

"Good evening, Mr. Avery," a cold voice said behind him.

He screamed.

* * *

Jarvis Avery thought he knew cruelty, thought he knew torture, but nothing could have prepared him for what he experienced that night. The smiling face of Harry Potter as he slit Avery's stomach open and tied him up with his own small intestine would surely haunt the man in hell.

"Sorry," the boy said, not sounding sorry at all. "I had to improvise. _Someone_ couldn't find any rope. Anyway, what I want to know is how you found those children. Was it random or did you go after them for a specific reason? I would suggest not lying to me. I'll be able to tell if you're lying."

"Leopold!" Jarvis exclaimed. "It was my brother Leopold! He has a contact at the ministry!" At the warning glance from Potter, he began to stammer. "I don't know who! Please, please don't kill me!"

"Well, that was anti-climactic. And what part of this conversation made you think you would leave it alive? You're not leaving this house except in a body bag. Possibly also without your skin and various other parts of your anatomy. I mean, seriously, did you expect anything less for being a child-molester? Oh, don't worry about your brother; I'll be sending him to see you in hell very soon."

* * *

Dolores Umbridge was in a bind. When the Potter brat had escaped from the dementors, she thought that coming to Hogwarts would be the perfect chance to not only eliminate Dumbledore's support base but get rid of the obnoxious little upstart. But things had only gone downhill since she set foot in the castle.

Pureblood students being murdered left and right. A student rebellion headed by Dumbledore (and she had been forbidden from punishing the students involved because of the flimsy excuse that they were under the influence of potions). Potter had not given her a single reason to give him detention. And even being named headmistress as well as High Inquisitor had fallen completely flat as none of the students (or the even the castle itself) seemed to recognize her authority.

But she would show them. She would show them all!

At the Halloween feast, which would take place tomorrow night, she would announce her new educational decrees. Her original plan had been to just hang them up outside the Great Hall, but she decided that officially proclaiming them to the entire student body was the better way to go (before then pinning them up outside the Great Hall).

Yes, soon all those little runts would learn never to anger Dolores Jane Umbridge!

* * *

Harry cheerily whistled a jaunty tune as he spread the petrol around the dining room. He had enjoyed torturing Avery perhaps a little more than he should have. Of course, as he'd said, rapists (especially child-rapists) didn't deserve to live, or not experience horrific pain like being skinned, covered in boiling melted sugar, and then having thousands of Africanized bees and biting flies released on them. Actually, that was pretty tame compared to what Harry _wanted_ to do to him, but he was on a timetable and he needed to stick to it.

"Harry, are you really sure you want to burn the place to the ground?" Hermione asked.

"After what's gone on in this house I don't want any reminders of the repugnant depths to which a human being can sink," Harry replied as casually as if he'd been discussing the weather.

"Are you talking about what you did to Avery or what Avery did to those children we found locked up in his basement?"

"The latter, obviously. I'm very much aware of the depths to which _I_ am willing to stoop. Has Sally-Anne finished getting those children out of there?"

"Yes, Harry. The only question left is would it be kinder to erase their memories of what happened or do we respect their rights to know the truth?"

"Well, leaving out the fact that our underage magic use would draw unwanted attention from the authorities, would you want to go through the rest of your life never knowing that some sick bastard did to you what Avery did to those children? Personally, I would want to know so that I could make sure the bastard got his comeuppance and use my hatred of people like that to drive me to be a better person."

"I see what you mean."

"No, no I don't think you really do, Hermione. It is a very interesting ethical question. Are there some things people are better off not knowing? I also probably wouldn't have the stomach to tell any children of my own what I did for my personal fifth year project. That is, of course, if any woman would want to have children with me after finding out what a monster I am."

"You're not a monster, Harry."

"Try telling that to people if word of this gets out."

"Well, I don't think you should worry too much about finding a girl who will like you despite your…unsavory hobbies. I've seen the way that Tracey has been eyeing you recently."

"What I did is no different than what her own father would have done once he found out what the tossers did to her. Besides, I promised Sirius that we would go to the tropics to get drunk and chat up women of loose morals."

"All the same, I still think you should ask her out to Hogsmeade."

"Fine conversation you two are having," Sally-Anne said as she rejoined her co-conspirators. "Talking about ethics, murder, and dating all at the same time."

"Those things are probably more similar than I'd care to consider," said Harry. "Anyway, how are those kids doing?"

"Not so good, Harry. Several of them need medical treatment and two of the younger ones can't stop crying. I-I don't know what we're going to do."

"Have any of the children seen magic?"

"I think, considering how young they are, they might later figure out ways to rationalize what they went through, that any magic they witnessed or experienced was just something they didn't understand at the time."

"Give them some sleeping draught. We'll take them to a non-magical hospital. Dobby!"

The house elf popped into view.

"Yes, Harry Potter sir?"

"There are six muggle children who need to be taken to safety. When Sally-Anne gives them some sleeping draught, I want you to take them to the nearest non-magical hospital."

Dobby nodded and went with Sally-Anne back to where the children were. Several minutes later, when Sally-Anne and Dobby returned, Harry pulled out a small box of matches.

"Well, shall I?"

* * *

Leopold Avery stumbled through the fireplace into his living room. The Dark Lord had not been in a particularly good mood and had taken his irritation out on any of his followers who had been stupid enough to be within cursing distance. Unfortunately, that included Leopold. He shuffled over to the sideboard to get himself a drink to steady his nerves.

After all, there was nothing worse than a Cruciatus from the Dark Lord.

"Good evening."

Leopold shot round to see a dark figure sitting in his armchair. The figure slowly raised his head and Leopold could see a pair of Killing Curse green eyes.

"Who are you?" Leopold demanded.

"It's not really important who I am," the man said calmly. "It's what I'm going to do."

Leopold began to reach for his wand.

"And what is that?" he said.

"I haven't decided yet. But it will likely be worse than what I did to your brother."

Leopold Avery had only a moment to process this before his world went black.

* * *

"Success!"

Tracey looked up from her homework at Daphne's exclamation. She wished that she could've gone on the mission; unlike her best friend, Tracey wasn't really the research type of girl. At least Harry promised to bring her on the next mission.

"What is it, Daphne?" she said.

"I figured out what that locket is," said Daphne proudly. "And what's more, I know how to destroy it and any others that might exist all in one go."

"Really?"

"Yes. It's all right here in this book I asked Mum to send me."

"Your mother didn't question why you needed a book on Dark Magic?"

"I told her it was for a Defense Against the Dark Arts project."

"And she bought that?"

"All right, so my mum isn't the brightest owl in the parliament. What matters is that the mystery is solved. The supreme leader will be pleased."

"Supreme leader? Is that what we're calling Harry now?"

"Well, you come up with a better codename."

"Seriously, who would call him that?"

At that moment, the door to the Room of Requirements opened and Luna Lovegood skipped in to join them.

"Hello, Daphne. Hello, Tracey. Is the supreme leader back yet?"

Daphne looked smugly at Tracey, who glared back.

"You know something, Daphne," said Tracey. "I really hate you."

* * *

Harry was humming the tune of the Anvil Chorus with each pull of the saw through Leopold Avery's remaining arm. He'd already sawed off the other one, as well as his hands and feet. He was doing things by degrees. Hermione was helping Sally-Anne; there were even more children locked up in this house than at Jarvis Avery's. It was bad, really bad. And Leopold Avery wasn't going to get the relatively merciful death that his brother had.

"You know something, Mr. Avery," said Harry. "The strangest thing about this is that I don't even hate you. Oh, you disgust me beyond the furthest reaches of human comprehension, certainly. But I don't think I actually have it in me to hate anyone. This is just business really."

Leopold Avery screamed as the saw tore through another artery.

"Well, maybe it is personal on some strange cosmic level. So, I really just want to cut to the chase, already. Who is your ministry contact and what do they have to do with the children you abducted?"

"Please," Avery sobbed brokenly.

"I'm not hearing a name. Perhaps I should just move ahead. Now where did Sally-Anne put that jar of piranhas?"

"No, please! Hopkirk! It's Mafalda Hopkirk from the Improper Use of Magic Office! She tells me the names and addresses of muggle-born children so I can make sure they disappear."

That certainly explained a lot. The wizarding world had horribly dwindling numbers. While all the inbreeding between purebloods explained a good deal of it and the last war did its damage as well, that still didn't entirely account for why there were so few muggle-borns. And someone like Mafalda Hopkirk would be ideally-placed for giving information on muggle-borns to Death Eaters.

"And what do you do with the children you abduct?" said Harry.

"They're sold around mostly," Avery choked out through a groan of agony. "I keep the ones I like best and sell the rest to others."

"Who are your buyers?!" Harry demanded. "Tell me, now!"

"Behind the p-portrait in my s-study. There's a list. Please, please let me go."

"What is it with you people thinking I'm going to let you live? Honestly, I'm certain that all the inbreeding has irreparably damaged the intelligence levels of countless pureblood families."

Harry reached into a magically-expanded bag and began removing objects to set up an unusual apparatus.

"Tell me, Mr. Avery, have you ever heard of a Judas Cradle?"


	10. Trick or Treat

The Purge

 **Okay, this is the REAL Halloween chapter. The last was just an opener, I suppose.**

 **TW: Magics, murder, mayhem, and miscellaneous mischief. Also, when did this become a crack fic?**

Trick or Treat

Harry started up his Halloween morning by ransacking the headmaster's office. He wasn't worried about Umbridge barging in on him as the castle had barred her from entering. It was a good thing she wasn't very bright as it had only taken Harry about ten seconds to get Dobby to pop him over and magically freeze all the portraits so they wouldn't be able to tell anyone what Harry was up to.

It was a jolly time having the freedom to properly poke around Dumbledore's belongings as he'd only been in there for a few minutes at a time during the summer when he was pulling those tasteless pranks on the headmaster. Oh, how he wished he'd gotten in more pranking when he'd had the chance!

Still, it was nice to have free rein in uncovering the old man's dirty secrets.

"Copies of _Wizards' Wizards Monthly_ , photos of Dumbledore with his best friend Grindelwald, _nude_ photos of Dumbledore with his best friend Grindelwald in compromising positions – well, that's gonna scar me for life. Hmm, a map marked with the locations of various sheep farms, the Philosopher's Stone which Dumbledore _said_ he destroyed, and some sort of letter written in German from what looks like an art school addressed to someone named A. Schicklgruber."

While learning deep, personal information about his headmaster that he wasn't sure he actually wanted to know was all well and good, it didn't answer Harry's questions regarding Halloween night of fourteen years ago. Harry looked up from his digging and saw the corner where Dumbledore's pensieve was stored. He came very close to slapping himself upside the head.

"Duh, Potter," he muttered. "The old man wouldn't keep stuff like that written down."

However, when he checked the closet where the pensieve was, he found it was missing. A note was pinned up inside it.

 _Memo to me,_

 _Get pensieve back from Severus at first opportunity._

 _Also, buy some more sherbet lemons._

"That prick! I go to all the trouble of breaking into his office and he's loaned out his pensieve to Snape. That is just _typical_."

As he said the last sentence, he kicked the side of Dumbledore's desk in frustration, causing a hidden compartment to open in the side. In it, Harry found Dumbledore's diary, a file labeled 'Top Secret Plans,' and a box full of memory vials. Why Dumbledore thought hiding information like this in his desk without any sort of magical protection was a good idea was anyone's guess; of course, this was the same man who hid the Philosopher's Stone behind traps that three first years could get past, so who really understood how his mind worked?

"I'm just curious why he didn't hide all that other personal information in the secret compartment," Harry thought aloud as he stowed his finds in his bottomless bag.

His current mission accomplished, he called for Dobby to help get him into Snape's office to search for the pensieve.

* * *

Harry was shaking slightly when he sat down by Hermione and Ron at dinner. At first he couldn't decide if it was from horror or rage; he ended up defaulting it to rage. It was Tuesday, so his day had been pretty full, but he'd managed to squeeze in a few hours before the feast so he could go over some of what he'd discovered during his early morning pillaging.

Seeing Snape up at the professors' table was doing terrible things for Harry's nerves as he wanted nothing more than to gut the man right then and there. His hatred must have shown on his face, because his fellow Gryffindors were staring at him. Hermione looked the most worried.

"Are you all right, Harry?" she said.

"Not really," he said, knowing that she would never believe him if he said 'I'm fine.' "I'll tell you later."

He'd already wanted to kill Snape, Theo Nott had told him about the rumors (which were looking more and more like fact every second he thought about it). Unfortunately, Harry would have to wait as he and his team had already made plans for that evening. That didn't stop him from doing a mental notation of what he wanted to do to the bastard. Though it wasn't nearly as bad as what he wanted to do to Dumbledore.

"Hem, hem!"

 _Ah, another country heard from_ , Harry thought.

"Attention, students," said Umbridge. "I have an important announcement to make. As your headmistress and the Hogwarts High Inquisitor, I have devised some new rules and regulations to ensure the safety and security of you students as well as improving the sadly lacking educational standards within the school."

"Oh, this should be good for a laugh," Harry muttered.

As Umbridge began to rattle off the first few of her new educational decrees, there was a growing murmur of dissent coming from the students. Harry glanced down at his watch, if she didn't wrap it up then he and his team would be late. They had a couple jobs they needed to get done before they met up with Daphne for the ritual at midnight.

It was a good thing they were prepared in advance in case something held them up. With a slight nod to Sally-Anne, the distraction was initiated. Sally-Anne clutched a small object in her hand and discreetly pressed a small button on it. Pandemonium erupted as fire, fog, and lights blasted from all sides of the Great Hall. The students scattered and the staff tried desperately to maintain order.

In the confusion, Harry's team slipped out through on of the secret passageways. While it wasn't as spectacular a prank as the riot had been, they'd laced some spells around the exits that would cause the rest of the student body to flee the school grounds and hide. The spells they'd used had come from the book Daphne had given to Harry; it was a Greengrass spell designed to cause fear and paranoia, and was completely untraceable (if any aurors tried to search for a cause, they wouldn't find any sort of magical residue).

The staff would be busy for quite some time.

* * *

Mafalda Hopkirk was closing up at her office. She always stayed longer than anyone in her department, something which earned her respect as a hard-working ministry official. She felt it was praise well-deserved considering what she spent her time doing in the office when everyone else had gone home to their families.

Like many traditionalist purebloods, she'd been raised to hold a disdain for muggle-born and muggle-raised individuals, having been taught as much by her parents. While she never actively sought to kill them when she was younger, the rise of the Death Eaters forced her to pick a side. The thought of choosing to protect people she'd always been told she was better than over people who were just like her was too ridiculous for her mind to process and she began feeding information to the Death Eaters.

Even after the fall of the Dark Lord, when Leopold Avery offered to pay her for continuing the flow of information, she didn't think twice about it. It wasn't like she was running around in a mask murdering them, she often told herself, and they weren't even important, just outsiders who had no place in the wizarding world.

It became easy for her. Signing away the lives and futures of muggle-borns was just a part of her routine now. She couldn't see them, so why should she care what happened to them? It didn't affect _her_ life, so it didn't matter that theirs were being taken away. And, in Mafalda's mind, it was as though they weren't even _real_ people.

Mafalda was so caught up in her work, she didn't even notice as a long strip of wire descended in front of her until it was suddenly yanked back, catching her around the throat and choking her.

* * *

"Where are they?" Daphne said as she paced the ritual site. "They should be here by now."

"Patience is a virtue," Hermione replied.

"Not when you're in life or death circumstances. Besides, the longer we stay out here, the greater the risk of discovery."

"Why'd you choose this site in particular?" Hermione asked, looking around at the stone circle.

They were at one of the lesser-known henges of Britain, the prehistoric site of Arbor Low in Derbyshire. It was a simple circle of weathered stones on a large barrow, surrounded by a circular ditch in the middle of many miles of fields. In the distance, one could hear sheep.

"Because we needed a henge site for the ritual and I like Derbyshire," said Daphne.

"I would've thought something this important should take place at a more famous site, like Stonehenge."

"That tourist trap? Granger, one henge is just as good as any other. They're just magical summoning circles. We could've made our own in the Forbidden Forest if we had any powerful wizard or witch chieftains to bury in there."

"That's what the henges are for? Burials and magic rituals?"

"Duh, what did you think they were for, religious ceremonies? The pre-Celtic people of Britain who built the henges were ruled by the strongest and most powerful people in their communities, which just so happened to be witches and wizards. The henges weren't much good for anything else."

"Wait, if it's not a religious thing, why are we doing it on Halloween?"

"Halloween is the one night a year when we can unconditionally banish evil spirits and Dark magic. Some countries have it at different times of the year. I think the Italians still have it in May. But magical rituals have nothing to do with religion, Granger. It's all about destroying Dark magic or else helping send ghosts on to the afterlife. If anything, we're just doing a public service."

"We _are_ also violating numerous laws concerning trespassing on private property," Hermione pointed out. "Not to mention breaking laws protecting English heritage sites."

"I think trespassing and some minor desecration of a historical site are the least of our concerns. What with being accessories to murder, after all."

They were disrupted from their debate by the arrival of the others.

"Sorry I'm late," said Sally-Anne. "I was just finishing my little talk with Ms. Hopkirk."

"Yeah, and we were a little caught up in collecting our final component for the ritual," said Tracey as she and Harry hoisted a bound man with a sack over his head and tossed him into the center of the gathering.

"Who'd you choose?" asked Daphne.

"Considering it's going to be a pretty quick death," said Harry, "I figured we should use a Death Eater who was less offensive than the others."

Harry whipped the sack off the man's head, though he was still restrained and gagged.

"Ladies, may I introduce you to Mr. Jugson?"

"Who?" said Daphne.

"He's from Accounting at the ministry," said Tracey. "Not very good at fighting; not very strong-willed, either. We didn't even have to use torture to get answers. He murdered a couple people and does deserve to die, but nothing so outrageously horrible as to deserve what we did and are going to do to the others."

They all looked down at the struggling fat man and decided that, as the most benign (or most useless) Death Eater, Jugson was just the man to use for their ritual.

"All right, let's get to it," said Harry.

* * *

It was a long night for the faculty of Hogwarts. Once they'd cleared away the smoke from the explosion and reassembled in the entrance hall, they'd then had to spend the rest of the night rounding up all the students who had spread out over a considerable distance. It was fairly late in the following morning when every student was accounted for, by which time the away team had returned, reconnoitered with Theo about what happened while they were gone, and promptly saw themselves to bed.

Classes were cancelled, so, after getting a decent rest (which he needed, since the ritual had resulted in him going into horrible convulsions as the horcruxes were destroyed; leading him to realize that he himself had been one), Harry finished going over the information he'd obtained from Dumbledore's and Snape's offices the previous day.

If he thought he was angry by what little he'd gotten through before, it had nothing on how angry he was when he finally emerged from the dormitory.

* * *

 **Author's Note : Yes, I know it's a little late for Halloween and the chapter's a bit short, but I gave you all the almost-Halloween chapter so I needed to have them actually do something **_**on**_ **Halloween itself. The little jab I had about henges and rituals is related to my Halloween chapter for my fem!Harry oneshots. Just a bit of humor about a popular trope in the HP fandom.**


	11. A High-Functioning Sociopath

The Purge

 **Been waiting for a chance to use this title.**

 **TW: You didn't think I'd let Hopkirk off with something so light as strangulation, did you? Also, gettin' all Skaldic on a Death Eater ass.**

A High-Functioning Sociopath

"Hermione, I hate to bother you, but if you want some peace and quiet for your studying, you might want to leave," said Harry as he sorted through some of his implements. "Only, it's going to get very loud in here soon."

"Not a problem, Harry," she replied. "I'll just put up a muffling charm. Any particular reason why it's going to be noisy?" She eyed the objects Harry was looking over and already suspected the answer.

"Tracey asked for some practical lessons and it wouldn't be right not to provide a test subject."

"Perhaps I _should_ leave. It wouldn't be right for me to hover while you're on a date."

"It's not a date! How many dates have you ever heard of that involved blood, torture devices, and a creep in a mask?"

"Well, as a matter of fact…"

"Don't answer that. I don't think I want to know."

The door to the Room of Requirements opened and Tracey entered. She was dressed in some rather loose-fitting and rather worn muggle clothing; she'd clearly taken to heart Harry's advice not to wear anything you want to keep when engaging in the activities that were fast becoming a part of their way of life.

"Good, right on time," said Harry. "I'll just go get our guest out of the closet. He's rather reluctant to leave it."

Hermione and Tracey snorted at Harry's unintended double entendre.

"Did you have the chance to read today's _Daily Prophet_?" Tracey asked Hermione.

"No, I slept in a bit late and had to get to class so I missed it," said Hermione, ignoring Harry dragging a bound and gagged figure over to a chair.

"Brought one along, just in case. Also, save the picture of Fudge, I need a new centerpiece for my dartboard."

Hermione accepted the paper with a 'thank you' and began to read as Tracey joined Harry for their hands-on practice. Most of the paper was filled with idle dribble as the ministry was clearly intent on keeping the recent string of murders covered up as best they could so as not to incite a panic. That changed as a non-sequitur article appeared when she turned the page.

 _Don't Fear the Reaper_

 _By Lex Talionis_

 _Hello, dear readers. I apologize that I have been remiss in my duty to inform you of certain happenings that various interested parties would prefer remain secret. Of course, one cannot keep secret things like the string of deaths and rebellion at Hogwarts under the watchful eyes of former headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore and the minister's Senior Undersecretary, Dolores Jane Umbridge._

 _But I am not here to talk about the flagrant disregard for the safety and well-being of Hogwarts students. For the moment._

 _I am here, dear readers, to inform you of the 'tragic' passing of several distinguished members of the magical world. [_ _ **Those of you who have just eaten or have weak constitutions may wish to skim some of the passages in this article**_ _.]_

 _ **Jarvis Avery**_

 _38-years-old, veteran auror, frequent contributor to St. Mungo's, was found to have been disemboweled, bound with his own intestines, skinned, and then covered in a layer of melted sugar before having angry swarms of Africanized bees and biting flies released on him, leading to his slow and agonizingly painful death. Perhaps his attacker took objection to his keeping children hostage in his basement and using them for his own perverse pleasure?_

 _Whatever the cause for such a gruesome scene, at least the aurors were spared the worst of it as his house was set on fire and the children returned to their families._

 _ **Leopold Avery**_

 _42-years-old, illustrious member of the Wizengamot, doting father to the late Eugene Avery (died tragically in early October, age 17), was found…_

Hermione read the irreverent and, some would say, scathingly smug article as it recounted in perfect detail the deaths that transpired around Halloween. She mostly skimmed them, as she already knew what happened, though she did pause to read the section on Hopkirk, as Sally-Anne had not been very forthcoming on what exactly she had done to the old hag.

 _ **Mafalda Hopkirk**_

 _63-years-old, a senior officer for the Improper Use of Magic Office, was found in her office the morning after Halloween. She had been choked to unconsciousness and then revived, repeatedly, and then had each of her tendons severed with a pair of bolt cutters before being strung up by a large, metal hook that had been jammed through her throat._

 _I spoke with a specialist in criminal profiling to understand what the significance of these particular tortures. It seems the perpetrator wanted Hopkirk to feel as helpless as the numerous children she had sold out to Leopold Avery. Severing the tendons was not only painful, it ensured a lack of escape. The strangulation and impalement of the throat was meant to symbolize the voiceless state of the condemned children, their pleas for help unanswered._

Hermione folded up the newspaper and set it aside before returning to her book, blissfully ignoring the screams of the Death Eater 'volunteer' as Harry guided Tracey through the intimate art of the Blood Eagle. Tracey had a particularly graceful hand when it came to severing the ribs but nearly let her eagerness get the better of her when it came to pulling the lungs through the back.

* * *

With the furor of Halloween over, the Christmas season was fast approaching and Harry wanted to make one large hit before term ended. They'd already brought down the Avery brothers, leaving them with the next link in the human-trafficking chain. Miles Gibbon, an older man and member of the Wizengamot, was the one who bought up the children that the Averys didn't keep for themselves and then sold them off along with adults (generally muggle-born witches) who had been kidnapped either by himself or one of his other contacts.

With the Averys dead, Gibbon and any of his associates were likely to panic, which could put any potential captives at risk of being disposed of. Unless Gibbon was the type of man who either thought his wards were strong enough to keep danger out or that he could bargain for his life. It didn't matter, Harry's skills in ripping through wards were almost unparalleled and he was the last person to ever let a Death Eater live of his own volition.

That's not to say that Harry had an easy time planning his excursions. What with the O.W.L.s coming next term, the professors cramming piles of homework on them, and having to evade Umbridge and her stupid educational decrees, not to mention keeping up with sleep, meals, and normal study, it was a small miracle that Harry was finally able to schedule this very important outing.

Still, it would be nice to work off some stress by doing his good deed for the week. After all, it was getting close to the time when Santa was watching to see if one was naughty or nice. While the actions Harry took should probably land him on the permanent Naughty List, the fact that he was rescuing numerous individuals from torture and abuse and ensuring lives were saved in the future should at least warrant more than a lump of coal in the stocking.

* * *

Miles Gibbon looked out his window from behind the heavy curtains. He knew his life was in danger after reading that the Averys were dead. Someone had it out for him and his compatriots, and probably not just because they were Death Eaters. Gibbon had done everything he could to rebuild his family's wealth and make their name known in the pureblood circles, though Gibbon himself, loathe as he was to admit it, was a half-blood. Like many of the half-bloods with Dark connections, he despised his mixed heritage and the problems it entailed. It wasn't even by choice that his father had had to sully his line with a woman of lesser blood, it was purely out of desperation as there were so few purebloods left.

His father had gambled away much of their money in an attempt to try and make more, leaving Miles with crippling debts when the old man passed away. So, in his own need to survive, he built up a small empire in the buying and selling of flesh. It wasn't even entirely about his customers' lusts and sadistic desires. Pureblood men who couldn't find wives or whose wives were incapable of having children often turned to him to acquire a suitable young woman to solve the problem; Gibbon himself partook in this service himself in order to ensure his family line would continue.

In a separate part of the house, cut off from where he kept his stock, he had five women that he maintained for his own pleasure and the continuation of his lineage. So far, he had a good twelve children, and two more on the way. After all, that's all mudbloods were good for, even his own mother had been nothing but a tool for the betterment of a worthier line.

Still, the news about the attacks bothered him. He and his fellow Death Eaters should be the ones causing the fear and panic, instead they were all hiding in their homes and wondering if they were going to be next. Gibbon had been debating what to do with his latest stock; in his fear, he'd decided he was going to host an auction for his more discerning buyers, the ones who purchased for pleasure rather than legacy. The sooner he got his stock out, the safer he'd feel. The auction would be in a few days, but that still left him wringing his hands with worry while he waited.

It wasn't even fear of the person that was after him that did it, it was a fear of the Ministry making the connection to him. Although, from what he read happened to the others, ending up in Azkaban sounded like paradise in comparison. But if the Ministry caught him out, it would put his other contacts at risk and lead to another blow against the Dark Lord's forces. Besides, he was reasonably certain he could convince the person not to kill him; every man had a price and Gibbon was considerably well-off thanks to his business. He was sure the two of them could come to an agreement...and then he would turn around and double-cross the person at the first opportunity.

"Good evening, Mr. Gibbon," said a sly voice from behind him. "I take it you were expecting me?"

* * *

She kept reciting it over and over in her head. _Mary…my name is Mary. He can't take that away from me. I'm Mary._ It was one of the few things that had kept her going in that hellhole for all the years she'd been trapped; no matter what _he_ did to her, she always remembered who she was. While some of the memories had faded, like what house she'd been in at school, there were still strong ones linked to her identity that she would never, ever relinquish. She remembered her family, her husband picking her up in his arms and spinning her around when they finally got their own home, a little redheaded baby girl she loved more than life itself taking her first steps, and the sounds of all the people she loved laughing during a Christmas dinner.

These things kept her alive, kept her from breaking no matter how terrible things got for her over all the years. The other women were broken shells of who they'd once been, but she never gave in, she never stopped fighting. She still had at least one person waiting for her outside these walls, and two others depending on her to keep them safe.

The sound of the door creaking open caused her to flinch, but she did not retreat into a corner like the others did. The light that flooded down the staircase was blinding, but through it she could see a dark figure. It seemed smaller than _him_ , slighter and with an air that was oddly…different.

"They're down here," said a decidedly female voice. "Frost, Lilac, I'll need backup."

"Be with you in a moment, Athena," another female voice replied. "We've got a lot of people to deal with right now."

"Where's Sunshine?"

"She's helping the Supreme Leader and Giddy deal with Gibbon," said a third female voice. "She should be here shortly."

The first figure hurried down the steps. Mary saw that the person was clearly a woman, and a young one at that. She was dressed in black, muggle clothing which included a hooded jacket and the lower part of her face was covered with a black cloth, leaving only her eyes visible. They were kind eyes, brown and warm and with nothing but goodness in them.

"Don't worry," the woman said. "We're here to help you."

She pulled out a set of thin, metal instruments and began to pick the lock on the chain around Mary's ankle. After a few seconds, there was a snap and the chain was off. Mary was free…

* * *

"We've got an issue," said Luna as she returned from assisting the others in liberating the captives.

"What?" Harry asked.

He and Sally-Anne had mostly been focusing on the upper half of the body, saving their best ideas for when they worked lower. And Harry had promised Tracey a turn at getting creative with castration when she was finished helping Daphne. Her last idea had involved a muggle car battery, crocodile clips, a hammer, and a sharpened spoon.

"There are _a lot_ of people here. The five women Gibbon kept for himself, plus the twelve children. Then there are the people he was selling off. Twenty females between the ages of seventeen and thirty, three men in their late teens to early twenties, and twenty-seven children of different genders between the ages of three and sixteen. How are we going to handle all this?"

Harry paused for a moment to think, allowing Sally-Anne to continue in her work of slowly pulling out Gibbon's fingernails. They hadn't moved this many people before and things were going to be difficult.

"I think we'd better call this one in," he said.

"Supreme Leader?" said Sally-Anne, looking up from her work.

"We finish up here," said Harry firmly. "We make sure this filth learns his lesson, we do what we can to comfort the victims, and then, right before we leave, we send a message to the DMLE."

"We'll need more potions if we're going to be here all night," said Luna. "I'll send Express to get them."

"Ask him to check in with Celt. Make sure we aren't missed."

Luna nodded and left Harry to resume his work.

"You actually thought you could bargain with me, Gibbon?" Harry said with a sneer. "And, more to the point, you actually expected me to _trust_ you? After everything you've done to those innocent people, after everything I did to your little friends and even to Death Eater students at Hogwarts, you were actually stupid enough to think money could save your life?"

"P-p-please…please…h-have mercy…" the man whimpered. This, however, was the wrong thing to say to Harry.

"Mercy?" Harry's voice was like ice. "Did you have mercy? How many lives have you destroyed or else damaged so badly it will be a miracle if they recover? How many have you consigned to abject misery, abuse, torture, rape, or even death? Did you have mercy on the five women you have routinely violated or the children you forced them to carry for you? I have no mercy for you because you deserve none."

Harry grabbed a knife and slammed it through Gibbon's leg, making the man scream.

"And we are just getting started."

* * *

Madam Bones was not usually called to crime scenes. In fact, this year had been the first time in several that she had, and then only because Scrimgeour needed her help. This time, however, Scrimgeour told her that she was needed in both her official capacity and on a personal level. That worried her, especially considering what they'd found at the last few murder sites. Still, she held her head high as she strolled into Gibbon Manor. A large contingent of aurors had been sent out to follow the smaller group, which had reported need for considerable backup.

The first thing that greeted her was not a mutilated body, but a line of men, women, and children all seated against the far wall, wrapped up in blankets, and giving their statements to the aurors. As she looked down the line, one face caught her attention; it was a face she never thought she'd see again.

Amelia Bones had had two brother, Edgar and Andrew. Edgar, his wife, and their children had all been brutally slaughtered by the Death Eaters. Andrew had met a similar fate, though his wife's body had never been recovered and their daughter Susan had been staying with Amelia at the time.

"Mary?" Amelia asked.

The woman lifted her head. She was thin, dirty, dressed in rags, with two young children clinging to her for protection. There was no mistake, though. Mary Bones was alive.

"Amy?" she said, her voice strained. "Are you real?"

"I was thinking the same thing about you."

Mary's face split in a smile and tears pooled in her eyes. She'd hoped it was real, that she was safe and free at long last. She remembered what she'd seen last night, the person referred to as "Supreme Leader" by the women who'd helped her. She remembered those green eyes, eyes she'd seen before in a friend she'd believed to be dead.

"Bleeding Lily is back," Mary said in scarcely more than a whisper.

Amelia's eyes went wide.

"Madam Bones?" said a voice behind her and Amelia reluctantly turned.

"Yes, Auror Shacklebolt?'

"The Head Auror wants to go over the findings with you."

"I'll be right there."

"You'll never find them, you know," said Mary as Amelia followed the auror towards the next room.

"What?"

"You'll never find them, Amy. And, to be honest, I don't think you want to."

Amelia stared at her sister-in-law for a few more seconds before shaking herself back to reality and moving to finish her work so she could get the woman to St. Mungo's as fast as possible.

"Report!" she declared as she entered the drawing room to the grisly sight of Gibbon's mutilated body.

"Same person who did this had to have done the other jobs," said the auror examining the body.

"This case is much like the one with the Averys," said Scrimgeour. "Only, the persons responsible didn't remove the captives themselves. Understandable, considering how many people there are."

"You said 'persons' as in plural," said Amelia.

"Yes. From what the witnesses told us, there was a team of people working for someone they called 'Supreme Leader.' They refuse to tell us anything else about them, though. Can't say I blame them."

 _Nor can I, to be perfectly honest_ , Amelia thought to herself. _Damn it, why can't a spade just be a spade and a criminal be a criminal? Bad enough finding out that one of my aurors was a child-molester, now I find my sister-in-law's been kept as a sex-slave for fourteen years. I wonder if it's too early to retire, or maybe get a nice, quiet job in curse-breaking?_

She didn't pay much attention to the coroner's report on Gibbon, only noting (with far more pleasure than was professional) that he died slowly, in considerable agony, and took his last breath only seconds before the aurors arrived. She could see the damage pretty clearly for herself and felt not a shred of sympathy for him.

A part of her, the part moved by familial devotion and Hufflepuff loyalty, wished desperately that she could have had a chance to work over the bastard herself.

* * *

 **Author's Note** **: Just to make sure you all are clear on the codenames.**

 **Supreme Leader is Harry. Obviously.**

 **Athena is Hermione. Again, for obvious reasons.**

 **Frost is Daphne. Playing on the Ice Queen nickname.**

 **Lilac is Tracey. In my fic, I decided it's her favorite color.**

 **Sunshine is Luna. Work that one out for yourselves.**

 **Giddy is Sally-Anne. A play on her last name.**

 **Express is Dobby. Like express delivery or like a train.**

 **Celt is Theo. A rather stupid joke based on his last name.**


	12. Carol of the Knells

The Purge

 **Sorry this is late, I got caught up in holiday stuff and couldn't focus on this until recently.**

 **TW: Torture, conspiracy to murder, murder, and dick jokes, very stupid dick jokes.**

Carol of the Knells

" _CRUCIO_!"

The Dark Lord Voldemort, the most ferocious warlock in the world, was having a very unpleasant morning. Actually, he'd been having an unpleasant couple of months. The murders of his followers were getting increasingly annoying not only because they reduced his ranks, but because they were incredibly demoralizing for his remaining followers. And, to top it all off, he'd been having a serious migraine ever since Halloween.

It had happened very suddenly, almost as though it were a seizure but nothing his followers did could stop the pain. It felt as though parts of him were exploding under his skin before the pain dimmed to a sharp stabbing in the back of his skull. No amount of pain-relief potions could make it go away.

Also during Halloween, his beloved Nagini had died rather suddenly and no one could figure out how it had happened. At first, Voldemort had been worried that something had happened to his horcruxes, but then he assured himself that no one knew about them and they were all perfectly safe where he'd hidden them. Well, with the exception of the diary, something Lucius was frequently paying for. But there was nothing he had ever read about horcruxes that would cause such a reaction; and he was the only remaining expert in horcruxes, after all.

Still, it was worrying that he didn't know what caused such a thing.

 _Oh, well,_ he thought to himself, _I'm sure it's nothing a wizard of my capabilities can't figure out. Now, I need start planning how I'm going to break my other followers out of Azkaban. These attacks are leaving my forces rather diminished._

* * *

Harry was sitting enjoying his breakfast the day after he'd liberated the captives at the Gibbon household. He'd settled for plain porridge, not having much of an appetite these days. He only looked up when the mail arrived (though, as usual, he didn't receive anything as he and Sirius preferred covert correspondence for obvious reasons). His reason for looking up, though, was to observe his fellow students.

Sure enough, an owl delivered a letter to Susan Bones. Upon opening it, Susan was quickly overcome with tears and hugged her friend Hannah, crying out, "My mum's alive! She's alive!"

Harry was happy for the girl, but it couldn't stop his own sense of melancholy. He was pleased with himself for reuniting a family with a lost loved one, but it left him reminded of his own loss. Those thoughts quickly soured and he turned his narrowed gaze towards a certain greasy-haired potions professor, who had also noticed Susan's reaction to the letter and seemed decidedly displeased by it.

After Harry had poked around Dumbledore's and Snape's memories, he knew plenty about the prophecy and the fact that it was Snape who'd sold out Harry's family. But Harry also learned that two other children could've fit the prophecy under different circumstances. Neville Longbottom was the other immediate choice for the Chosen One, which, in hindsight, actually made a lot of sense to Harry, but hadn't been chosen because Voldemort felt the Chosen One would be a half-blood like himself. But there was another candidate that could've been available had she been born a boy. Susan Bones was born the day after Harry (while Neville had been born the day before him) and her parents had been very outspoken in their opposition to Voldemort, with Susan's late father Andrew Bones giving three individual speeches as head of the hit-wizards on how Magical Law Enforcement was not going to be intimidated and that anyone bearing the mark "of that son of a bitch who calls himself a Dark Lord" would be immediately detained and interrogated "by any means necessary within the bounds of the law."

From what Harry heard around the school, Susan Bones was as much a target of Snape's ire as Neville or Harry. And now Harry understood why. Harry knew that the DMLE would soon be knocking on Hogwarts' door for Snape to come along with them to a nice little cell in Azkaban, but Harry didn't think he could let Snape get away with such a light punishment for everything he'd done.

If that made Harry petty, well, so be it.

* * *

"Why did Harry ask us to run reconnaissance on Azkaban?" Tracey asked.

"Because it would mess up our performance streak if there's a Death Eater breakout," said Luna.

"Yeah, Tracey," said Daphne. "It's hard enough breaking into the houses of the ones who escaped prosecution. If you add in the ones who actually went to prison, we'll be back to square one."

"Not to mention, Harry said he has plans for a Christmas gift for one of his Gryffindor friends. It involves severed heads."

"I didn't know Hermione collects severed heads."

"It's obviously not for Hermione, Daphne," said Tracey. "It isn't, right?"

"Of course not," said Luna. "Everyone knows that women hate severed heads as gifts. If you give a girl an appendage, you aim lower. Much lower."

Neither one could dispute that and so went back to making their observations of the supposedly escape-proof prison.

"So, how many of these Dick Munchers are there up for the chopping block?" said Tracey.

"Not nearly as many as got off," said Luna.

"Please don't use the words 'got off' in conjunction with 'Dick Munchers,'" said Daphne. "It sounds crass."

"All right, all right. Don't get testy-cle."

Tracey just managed to stifle a snort.

"Luna!"

"I've got another one. You know what their _very_ favorite thing to eat is?"

"What?" said Tracey.

"Sausages."

"Stop it," Daphne persisted. "Tracey, don't encourage her."

"You know what else Death Eaters like to eat?"

"What?" said Tracey, who was fighting to keep back her laughs.

"Nuts, but they never have any."

"You two are so childish," said Daphne, having to damper what would otherwise have been a yell so as not to draw attention to their hiding spot.

* * *

The Christmas holidays soon drew near and students were making ready to go home and spend some time with their families. Snape was even nastier than usual because of the students' excitement, good cheer, and happiness and was particularly vindictive to Harry, who often sat smiling in Potions fantasizing about his special Christmas present to himself, Sirius, Remus, and the student body at large.

It still bothered Harry, to a certain degree, that he'd become so comfortable with taking human life. He'd heard a few things about serial killers, about them being broken people with a lack of empathy, how they tortured animals as kids or were sexually abused. That didn't really describe Harry, though. Harry, for all that he'd done, still had regard for the lives of the innocent; he wasn't deluded and he certainly didn't get a sexual release from torturing and killing Death Eaters.

There was something, though, that satisfied him deeply when he heard them screaming, making them endure in some part the horrors they'd inflicted on their victims. Perhaps it was some little thrill of the power he held over them in those moments; pain and respite, life and death. In a way, it made him understand what Quirrell had told him back in first year, how Voldemort had taught him that there is "No Good and Evil, only power and those too weak to seek it." Except, Harry wasn't in this for power, at least not for the sake of power itself; his primary focus was on justice, to be the hand of the defenseless and the liberator of the captive. However, he could only be so if he became a monster that monsters fear. A darker version of his hero complex.

Instead of charging into a fray as a valiant knight, Sword of Gryffindor in hand and surrounded by smoke and war cries, he became a demon, someone more Slytherin in nature, striking down the unwary enemies before they could cause any more harm. It wasn't noble, or chivalrous, or fair, but it was effective, it was cathartic, and it was still justice. And justice with far less loss of life than an outright battle would bring.

But still, whatever internal conflicts arose in him, Harry would continue with his mission. And, as it would soon be Christmas, he felt right in his decision of what to give everyone as a gift.

* * *

Severus Snape struggled furiously against his restraints. He couldn't see anything through the cloth sack that had been fastened over his head and his wrists were bound in manacles behind his back. Somehow, before his captor even started speaking, he knew it was all Potter's fault. Someone grabbed him and flung him onto a hard surface, positioning him so that his upper body was slanted down.

Suddenly, he found water being repeatedly dumped over him, making him feel as though he were drowning. He squirmed and struggled, desperate for air and freezing cold. He gurgled as water filled his mouth and nose, coking and disorienting.

After several minutes, it stopped and the sack was yanked off, he rolled off the table and hit the hard, stone floor on his side and coughed up the water, wheezing as he gasped for air.

"Hello, Snivellous."

Snape's eyes shifted up from where he lay to where Potter sat, smiling pleasantly at him, on one of the classroom desks.

"I've been waiting a long time for this," said Harry. "Maybe if you'd acted like less of an arse the past few years I might have been persuaded to go a bit easier on you. Probably not, though. Once a Death Muncher, always a Death Muncher and all that."

"Potter! I'll have you expelled for this! Do you hear me, you arrogant twit?!"

"Yeah, that's likely. About as likely as Draco coming back and testifying against me."

Snape's eyes widened in horror.

"It can't be… _You're_ the one who's been doing all this?!"

"Only natural that you'd be surprised, considering how much of a 'dunderhead' you always assumed I was. Now, I have a few questions that I want you to answer truthfully. If you don't answer or if you attempt to lie to me, I'm afraid I'll have to up my interrogation techniques by breaking every bone in your hands, one at a time. If that doesn't work, I'll call in my assistants to help me with some of the more…unpleasant methods."

"I won't tell you anything, you little brat!"

"Oh, I am so happy you said that. Means I don't have to wait to get down to business."

"You don't have the nerve, Potter," Snape sneered. "Dumbledore wouldn't allow you to do this."

"Well, it's a good thing he isn't here, then, isn't it?"

Harry kicked Snape in the stomach, forcing him to roll the other way. Harry kicked him again so that the greasy professor lay prone on his stomach and Harry could reach his manacled hands.

"Now then," said Harry. "Did you or did you not hear the prophecy about me and then tell it to Voldemort?"

"Go to Hell, Potter!"

"Tsk, tsk, that's no way to speak to a student."

Harry grabbed Snape's bound hands, not caring about the discomfort he was causing him by yanking his arms up the wrong way. Selecting the index finger of Snape's right hand, Harry picked up a nutcracker tool (a small, thin device not to be confused with the holiday item) and inserted the tip of the finger into it.

 _Crack!_

* * *

"When are you going to tell him?" said Daphne.

"Soon," Tracey replied defensively.

"Uh-huh. So, you'll tell him in the next half-hour?"

"He's busy."

"I know, I know, torturing our head of house to death is a very big deal for him."

"Big deal for us, too, if the rumors are true."

"I suppose so. But you have to tell Harry that you like him as more than a friend."

"The hell I do."

"If you don't stake your claim _now_ , some other girl will move in."

"Like Hermione or Luna?"

"I thought Hermione liked Weasley?"

"Are you fucking serious? Hermione with Weasley?"

"All right, you've got me there. But still, you shouldn't wait, Tracey. A boy like that will go off the market fast and Harry deserves someone who can understand him on a personal level, someone who can see past the Boy-Who-Lived image and not report him to the DMLE for mass murder."

"You're right, Daphne," Tracey said with a sigh.

"Well, I usually am."

"I'll tell him when you admit you've got a crush on Neville Longbottom."

"Exactly, you'll tell him right after I…" Daphne paused to absorb what she'd just heard and then glared at her friend. "I really hate you."

* * *

"You know, Snape, I think we've made great strides in resolving our differences," Harry said cheerfully as he wiped the blood from his hands.

Snape groaned miserably in response. His hands were nothing more than mangled lumps of flesh, his face had been slashed over and over with a jagged knife, and it was better left unsaid what state the lower half of his body was in.

"I mean, I already knew most of what you'd done because you stupidly left that pensieve full of your memories out where anyone could stumble across it. You must be a moron on top of being a completely unrepentant piece of shit. Still, there's something wonderful about admitting your faults, getting them all out in the open. And, I just want you to know, your confession will bring closure to a lot of families. Now, however, our little chat must end.

"Goodbye, Professor."

* * *

Amelia Bones sat patiently at her sister-in-law's bedside. Mary was making great strides in overcoming what had happened to her. Amelia couldn't even begin to imagine what it was like, trapped in a dark cell for years being repeatedly raped and beaten, forced to give birth to her rapist's children. Mary hadn't even been allowed to name them. Amelia hadn't brought Susan in to see her mother yet, hoping to give Mary a little more time to adjust and heal before reintroducing her to her eldest child.

Hopefully, Mary would be coming home for Christmas, along with the two children. Despite the circumstances surrounding their births, Mary loved those children; a boy and a girl, whom she'd finally been able to name Andrew and Sarah Macdonald, deciding to give them her maiden name so they wouldn't be tarred with the name of her rapist.

Amelia had noticed similar responses from the other rescued women. They'd had no one to turn to for love and kindness except each other and their children. It reminded Amelia that even from pain, horror, and trauma there could still come some measure of good.

"Madam Bones!"

Amelia looked up at the interruption to see one of her aurors. It was starting to get routine.

"Madam Bones, we need you to go with us to Hogwarts," said the auror. "There's been another one!"

"What is it, Auror Jennings?" said Amelia.

"There's been another murder. It was a professor this time."

"Who?"

Amelia had to stifle the wish that the victim was the Toad…ehem, the Undersecretary to the Minister.

* * *

Harry smiled blandly as he and the other students were ordered to pack their things and prepare to leave early. All classes had been canceled for the term and parents and guardians were contacted to retrieve the students early. Harry knew the reason behind the frenzy. It was all because he'd gone and done a little thing like decorating the potions' class with Snape's innards. And for added fun, he'd had Dobby lock the other professors in their quarters to ensure they didn't block off the room until every student who wanted to had seen it.

There were more than a few celebrations.

Harry thought Umbridge was going to croak she was so furious. When it was all said and done, the students had been ushered to their dorms to start packing. Harry wasn't bothered by it, though. It meant he got to spend more time with the people that mattered to him. After all, wasn't that what Christmas was all about?

"Harry."

Harry turned to see Tracey standing nervously in a corner as they all waited for the carriages to arrive to take them to the station.

"Hey, Tracey," he said. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong," she said, still looking awkward. "It's just, there's something I feel I need to do before I leave or I'll regret it."

"If there's anything the matter, I'd be happy to help."

Tracey smiled and Harry wasn't sure if it was the cold air that was making her cheeks so pink. She quickly moved close to him, looked him in the eyes, and caught his lips in a kiss. Harry stood there, frozen in shock and unsure how to respond. He'd never been kissed before and expressions of affection, particularly those involving physical contact, were quite beyond him. Still, he couldn't fight the heat that spread up through his body and the peculiar sensation of contentment that squeezed at his innards in a way he'd only known before because he was usually the one doing the squeezing, although it certainly hadn't been pleasant for the person he'd done it to.

After a few seconds, Tracey pulled away, now looking rather proud of herself. Harry shook himself from his daze when he heard someone wolf-whistle and realized they'd both become the center of every student's attention.

* * *

"What a mess," Amelia muttered as she entered the crime scene.

She remembered Hogwarts' potions classroom, though in her day it certainly lacked the garlands of intestines and severed limb ornaments or the "HAPPY CHRISTMAS" scrawled on the far wall in blood. She didn't even need to hear the coroner's report to know that Snape had suffered horrific pain. Strangely, she couldn't muster any sympathy for the greasy bastard.

"Do we have a note for this one?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Auror Shacklebolt. "But I…I'm not sure you want to read it."

"Auror Shacklebolt, at this point I don't think anything could surprise me."

"All right," he said uncertainly, handing her the note. "Let me just summarize the main points. It's a list of everything Snape did to hurt people. It's like with the others; rape, torture, murder. It's…rather extensive."

"So I see." When she'd taken it, the note had unwound into a long scroll that ran all the way out to the hall.

"But that's not everything, ma'am. It seems Snape was also the one to set You-Know-Who on the Potters."

Amelia froze.

"Explain."

"Snape apparently heard a prophecy that Harry Potter is the only one who can defeat You-Know-Who and so he took what he knew to his master and when You-Know-Who decided to target the Potters, Snape made a request that Lily Potter be left alive so Snape could have her for his personal sex slave."

"Did Dumbledore know about this?!"

"I…I hate to have to say this, but he did, ma'am," said Shacklebolt sickly. "It's all in the note. Dumbledore knew what Snape had done and was keeping him here with the intention of 'redeeming' him. And he even turned a blind eye to what Snape was doing to some of the female students."

Amelia couldn't even find the words to express her disgust and simply motioned for him to continue.

"Well, ma'am, it seems Snape was not only allowing Slytherin boys to take sexual advantage of their female housemates, he himself has either outright assaulted or else coerced over fifty female students of various ages, not all of them in Slytherin. At least fifteen of them were underage."

Amelia's hands were clenched into fists.

"It goes on a bit, ma'am. There are a couple cases of Death Eater attacks that Snape had a hand in, even after he supposedly joined up with Dumbledore."

Amelia's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Did he have anything to do with…"

"Yes, ma'am, he was the one who delivered the killing blow to Andrew Bones and was involved in the kidnapping of Mary Bones. He was also the one who led the attack that killed Edgar Bones and his family and, from what it says in the note, he personally tortured the children."

Furious tears burned in her eyes, but Amelia wouldn't shed them. She was strong.

"Why?" she couldn't help but mutter. She hadn't been expecting an answer, but Shacklebolt gave her one anyway.

"According to the note, one of Snape's reasons was that he held a grudge against Mary Bones. I'm sure you know as well as I do that Mary was one of Lily Potter's friends. It seems Mary, when she and Lily were in school together, had tried to discourage Lily from continuing her childhood friendship with Snape because of his increasing involvement in the Dark Arts."

"And the other reason?"

"The other reason was that he wanted to hurt your niece."

"What does Susan have to do with this?"

"It seems that, had she been born a boy, she would have been a likely candidate for the prophecy. Snape evidently had this twisted thought that if You-Know-Who had gone after a different target that he would still have a chance at Lily Potter."

Amelia gave a tired sigh. If things kept going as they were, she'd be inclined to give Snape's killer an Order of Merlin.

"Anything else?"

"I don't know how to tell you, Madam Bones."

"Is there _anything else_ , Auror Shacklebolt?"

Shacklebolt took a nervous gulp.

"Do you remember what happened to the McKinnon siblings?"

That was the final nail in the coffin. Amelia's hand collided with a nearby desk and a sickening 'crunch' was heard as her fist broke the wood to pieces. Michael McKinnon had been her fiancé, the dearest love of her life and the only man she'd ever give her heart to, and his sister Marlene had been one of her closest friends. While Amelia knew they'd both died in a Death Eater raid, she hadn't known that Snape had been involved. Her only regret was that whoever had killed Snape had prevented Amelia from doing the deed herself.

"I think I need a moment."

Kingsley nodded and then quickly left the room, hastily slamming the door shut behind him.

Amelia leaned over the desk she had partially destroyed and took deep, steadying breaths. Her family, save Susan and Mary, had all been killed by Death Eaters. Her parents had been slaughtered by Voldemort himself, her brother Edgar and his family were butchered in their home by Snape, Snape had killed her brother Andrew and practically sold Mary into slavery, both Snape and Voldemort had been involved in the raid that cost Amelia both her fiancé and her friend. James Potter had been her godbrother and Lily Potter had been her partner and friend; both were killed because Snape had brought a prophecy naming Harry Potter as the only one to defeat Voldemort.

Amelia had protested Dumbledore's employment of Snape for years, without even knowing all of his crimes, and had been ignored. When James and Lily had been killed and Sirius Black sent to Azkaban, she'd tried to get custody of young Harry to ensure he was kept safe, but again Dumbledore had blocked her attempts.

Her eyes roved over the dismembered remains of one of the three men responsible for her misery.

"I'm fairly sure Harry Potter has first call on Voldemort's death, that leaves Dumbledore for me."


	13. My Grownup Christmas List

The Purge

 **Sorry this was delayed so long; it was supposed to be time-relevant, but things caught up with me. Plus, when January rolled around, I got really sucked into my work now that I'm in a graduate program.**

 **Also, it's hard to get into the Christmas spirit when it's not Christmas anymore. Hope you all can enjoy Christmas in June (as I felt it would be unfair to make you all wait for July).**

 **I also have a response to someone who said Susan couldn't have qualified for the prophecy if she was born the day after Harry. The prophecy states: "As the seventh month dies." Depending how you look at the word "dies" it could mean anything; the day after the final day of a month could be the moment at which that month "dies." If you count Neville for being born the day before Harry (and, until we got the specific date of Neville's birth, many people thought he was born the day after Harry), you have to count Susan for being born the day** _ **after**_ **him, too.**

My Grownup Christmas List

Harry watched the snow fall, contemplating a series of incredibly deep thoughts that crossed his mind. Despite what much of his past behavior would suggest, Harry had a very ponderous side. He'd had to develop it during the long days he spent locked up in the cupboard at Privet Drive. He would come up with truly brilliant insights into life, faith, ethics, and the dichotomy of Good and Evil. He never shared these thoughts, obviously, and they seemed to vanish whenever he tried to write them out, or else the words would become confused and his ideas would lose much of their original meanings.

Much like trying to answer questions on a History of Magic exam.

As he idly sipped the cup of tea in his hand, he thought on all that had happened and he realized something. Things were shaping up to be the best Christmas that he had ever had.

For the first time ever, he got to properly experience something like a real family. He had his somewhat mentally unstable godfather, his sort of adopted werewolf uncle, he had the boisterous Weasley family, and he would be going on a few little holiday outings with his group of friends/co-conspirators. On top of that, he had a budding romance with Tracey and had received an invitation to a party at her house on New Year's Eve (at which, Tracey informed him, there would be several 'persons of interest' in attendance).

Life was starting to look up, all because Harry took to committing horrifically violent crimes for the sake of justice.

* * *

Of course, a few days before Christmas, Voldemort decided that he was going to ruin the holidays for everyone by breaking his followers out of Azkaban. When Voldemort and his strike team got there, however, they found that not one of the imprisoned Death Eaters was there. Every cell supposed to contain a Death Eater was completely empty.

"Where the fuck is everyone?!" Voldemort shouted, right before the prison siren was set off. "Bugger!"

* * *

" _Deck the halls with blood and entrails, falalalala lalalala_ ," Luna sang as she, Daphne, and Tracey strung up their captives in the dungeon underneath Tracey's house.

Why Tracey's family had a dungeon, complete with medieval torture devices, was a testament to a darker aspect of their history that they tried desperately to keep hidden. In the past, the Davis family served as 'interrogators' during the Second Witch Hunt. It was their responsibility to find pureblood witches and wizards suspected of selling out unprotected muggle-borns to the witch hunters and 'persuade' them, by one means or another, to confess. The reason why it was purebloods being targeted for interrogation was due to the extreme anti-pureblood attitude that tended to spring up during witch hunts.

One would mistakenly assume that it would be muggle-borns who were most distrusted, as their connections to the muggle world would probably cause them to grow up with superstitious fears of witches and make them more likely to tell witch hunters where to find them in order to avoid being persecuted themselves. However, the overwhelming majority of ordinary wizards and witches were either muggle-born or half-blood, who were often victims of the prejudice spewed by the more diehard purebloods. The muggle-borns, especially, felt targeted and deeply resented how they were put in danger because certain purebloods delighted in cursing muggles, which, at the time, they could do with impunity. The muggle-borns and half-bloods, therefore, realized that they would be blamed for the actions of the purebloods and decided, as the majority of the magical population, to take matters into their own hands.

The Davises were one of the few pureblood families that the muggle-borns and half-bloods knew they could trust. While they were an old family, they had ties to the muggle world, occasionally serving as the royal family's liaisons in the magical world. The Davises had also been subtly pushing through bills to help support muggle-borns and half-bloods. But, above all else, the Davises were businesspeople and knew how to recognize a good deal.

Now, of course, save for Davises still being talented businesspeople and still subtly supporting muggle-born rights, that was all in the past. Well, until Tracey decided the dungeons needed airing and figured it was as good a time as any to get back into an old family tradition.

"Hope Harry doesn't have any trouble getting away," said Tracey. "He so wanted to be involved in this."

"Filthy blood-traitors!" one of the captives screamed. "The Dark Lord will have his revenge! You are dead! Your whole families are dead!"

Luna responded to the interruption by picking up a large mallet and bashing it hard into the fellow's kneecaps.

There were about one hundred prisoners in total. Possibly a few less than that, actually. After all, Voldemort's forces were made up a handful of entitled, bigoted, sadistic, and frequently insane members of the social elite. While the wizarding world, at large, was not particularly logical or independent-minded, most regular witches and wizards just wanted to live life in peace and happiness and were usually decent folks. In fact, the Death Eaters probably made up only about one percent of the magical population of Britain; a percentage that had been decreasing rather sharply in the last few months, for some as yet indeterminable reason.

Imprisoning them all in the Davis dungeon wasn't that difficult as the place was designed to hold five hundred comfortably; and a thousand if the Davises (or whoever was in charge) didn't care about whether their prisoners were comfortable or not.

"Should we go ahead and start?" Tracey asked, holding up a saw.

"I thought you were using drills first," said Daphne.

"Got ya covered," said Harry, appearing at the top of the staircase, a bag full of battery-powered drills in his hand.

"Harry," the three girls said together.

"Did you have any trouble getting away?" said Tracey, giving him a kiss on the cheek once he'd joined them.

"Not really," said Harry. "Everyone at the hideout is asleep by now and Hermione's with her family. The only difficulty I had getting here was after I'd arrived. Say, Tracey, is there a reason why your mother was so insistent I try some of her suet pudding?"

"Oh, Lord," she muttered, burying her face in her hands out of embarrassment. "Not again. How many times did she offer it to you?"

"About six or so."

"Well, she's cutting back, at least."

"WHEN WE GET OUT OF HERE, YOU BLOOD-TRAITOR BASTARDS ARE DEAD!" screamed the Death Eater from before.

"Harry, may I have one of those drills, please?" said Tracey, holding up her hand and giving Harry a flirtatious smile.

"Of course," Harry said, placing a drill into her hand. "You know how to use a muggle drill?"

"There's a button that says 'On.' It's not too difficult to figure out."

"If I'd handed one to Ron or Malfoy, that still wouldn't have been enough."

"Fair enough. Of course, my family doesn't look for spouses at family reunions."

"I defer to your logic."

The ominous whirring sound of the drill filled the dungeon, and the particular set of Death Eaters they were focusing their attention on, who were strung up on the walls with manacles, watched in horror and morbid fascination as Tracey began her work on their loud-mouthed compatriot. The sight of that drill being slowly pushed through his left eye, causing blood and goo to gush out, and Tracey's complete disregard for the man's agonized screams filled them with a sense of dread they never thought possible.

"Now that we have your attention," said Tracey. "We can move on to the _real_ torture."

"Wait, wait," one of the other Death Eaters pleaded. "We'll tell you anything you want to know."

"Know?" said Harry with a curious expression. "You lot have been in Azkaban for over a decade. I doubt you _know_ anything we'd be interested in. We're just doing this to thin Voldemort's forces. And because it's fun." He turned to the girls. "What do you think, ladies?"

"It couldn't hurt to ask," said Daphne.

"Us," Luna clarified. "It couldn't hurt _us_ to ask. It will very much hurt those who are as impolite as this fellow." She waved her hand dismissively at the still-screaming Death Eater that Tracey was menacing with the drill.

"Well, this is all getting a bit gory for my taste," said Daphne. "If anyone needs me, I'll be doing research on spells that turn people inside-out."

* * *

" _Oh, little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie_ ," that chilling voice chimed through the dungeon.

Rodolphus Lestrange curled into the corner of his dark, dank, little cell, desperately wishing he was still in Azkaban. He wasn't sure how long they had all been imprisoned here, only that the sound of the monster child approaching meant that another group of his former comrades would be led away and that their screams would echo through those grim halls for hours and hours, only to be silenced.

" _Above thy deep and dreamless sleep, the silent stars go by…_ "

In Azkaban, at least, there was a routine, a certainty. You knew when the dementors would glide by and that you would simply have to relive your worst memories. Rodolphus had never had much in the way of bad memories, aside from a few embarrassing childhood experiences. He'd had doting parents that had given him everything he asked for and he'd lived up to their expectations as a proper heir to a pureblood house. He found himself a respectable pureblood wife who was quite attractive and clever. He had plenty of money at his disposal. He was a member of the Dark Lord's inner circle, torturing and killing the mudblood scum without a care in the world. Indeed, the only truly awful thing that had happened to him was getting arrested and sent to Azkaban.

" _Yet, in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light…_ "

Until now, that is.

" _The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight._ "

* * *

'Twas the night before Christmas,

And, in a dark cell,

Three really bad Death Eaters

Would soon be in hell.

Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Bellatrix Lestrange were designated specifically for that night. Harry and Tracey and Luna and dear Sally-Anne worked with a festive cheer within the dark basement of Tracey's house. This was a special session. This was not done for information or admissions of guilt. This was done purely for fun and to provide a classmate with a Christmas present he could cherish forever.

"You know something I've been rather curious about?" said Harry. "I've been wondering what it would be like to stick pushpins into a person's face."

"What are pushpins?" said Luna.

Harry held up a plastic container filled with brightly-colored pushpins. Their metal points glinting wickedly in the dim light. The girls' faces lit up with malicious glee. Harry opened the container and pulled out a red pin and contemplatively rolled it between his fingers.

"Now, who would like to help me try it out?" he said to the three Lestranges. "Anyone?"

"You're too weak, you filthy half-blood," hissed Bellatrix. "You don't have the guts to do anything to the Dark Lord's most faithful."

Rodolphus and Rabastan were less confident and tried to shrink back against the wall behind them.

"Thank you for volunteering, Mrs. Lestrange," said Harry. Harry held up the box of pushpins. "Now, what's your favorite color?"

* * *

Neville Longbottom made his way down the stairs early on Christmas morning, tiredly rubbing his eyes against the long sleeve of his bathrobe. To be perfectly honest, he'd seldom felt much in the way of joy around the Christmas season. He often had to spend it surrounded by a plethora of older relatives, none of whom had children his own age that he could talk to (of the few who even had children, at all), who were all content to drink and gossip and go on and on about how he wasn't measuring up to the standard his father had set and how it was anyone's guess why he was even accepted to Hogwarts considering his mediocre magical ability.

It was insult to injury, salt in the wound of all that he'd lost as a child.

Still, he would enjoy the few hours he had to himself by getting up early. He would sit by the fireplace, in his grandfather's old armchair by the large window that overlooked the snow-blanketed grounds. He could sit there and, for a little while, pretend that he was a normal child whose mum and dad hadn't woken up yet and would be coming downstairs for their morning cuppa any moment.

Yet, as the morning light broke through the murky grey sky, the quiet bitterness of fourteen years of loneliness crept over the shy Gryffindor. The silent rage that bubbled in his heart towards the monsters that had robbed him of his mother and father in a way that was probably more painful than if they had died; to have them alive and so far beyond reach, present and absent all at once, was like a knife in the boy's heart every time he thought of them, which meant he suffered most every moment of his day and late into the night until his nightmares consumed him.

"Good morning, Neville," his grandmother said as she wobbled into the room, already dressed up in her favorite set of Christmas robes. "Why aren't you dressed?"

"It's Christmas, Gran," he said, fighting back a tired sigh. "I don't see the point until the family starts to arrive."

"Oh, very well." They had this small conversation every year. Always the same. "Well, go on and open your presents."

Neville opened his presents with a dispassion one would never expect from, well, anyone on Christmas morning. His presents were much the same as usual every year. Practical things from his relatives. Books that were intended to help him be a better wizard; in other words, poorly-concealed insults towards his abilities. He didn't bother to get his hopes up for a gift from his friends; it wasn't like he had any friends, after all.

Then, something caught his eye. A large parcel wrapped in light blue paper and orange ribbon. None of his relatives ever wrapped their presents like that. Plus, he'd already received gifts from every relative that bothered to send him anything. He shot a questioning look at his gran, who looked just as confused as he was.

He opened that vibrant card, the outside of which had a moving watercolor picture of Saint Nick in his sleigh that was decorated with a fair amount of glitter. The odd thing was, though, that Saint Nick looked somewhat younger and thinner than normal, with the beard clearly being fake as the man struggled to keep the imaginary wind from blowing it off his face. There was a cheery little house elf in a typical green and red outfit seated next to Saint Nick; the elf was merrily waving a saw. The reindeer, too, seemed different on closer inspection; Neville realized they were a team of witches in costumes and masks (one 'reindeer' with long, blonde hair and bright, aqua blue eyes blew him a kiss).

Neville opened the card to find the message: _We hope you enjoy your gift as much as we enjoyed acquiring it. Wishing you all the best for a happy Christmas._

In place of signatures, there was a set of symbols. An overlapped 'S' and 'L,' an Athenian owl, a smiley face, a sunflower, a lilac flower, and a snowflake.

His curiosity now extremely peaked, Neville gently undid the ribbon and carefully pulled off the wrapping paper. Beneath the wrapping was an equally gaudy box, patterned with tie-dye designs. Neville slowly raised the lid of the box…and practically flung it away in shock.

"Neville, what is it?" his grandmother demanded, wand shooting into her hand in response to a potential threat.

The contents of the box took a moment to register and, slowly, Neville picked the box back up into his trembling hands. Three faces, faces he'd long since become familiar with from scouring articles in the newspapers, three faces that had haunted his nightmares with cruel, merciless laughs, stared back at him, twisted in agony and fear. As his mind processed the sight of the severed heads of the Lestranges, the people who had robbed him of his parents, all twisted up and freshly bloody, as though they had only _just_ been allowed to die, something in Neville Longbottom snapped.

Augusta Longbottom had seen many strange things in her life. But the sight of her timid and gentle grandson rolling about on the floor and laughing maniacally was not something she'd ever expected. She, too, took a look at the gift that had caused such unusual behavior and, after overcoming her initial shock, collapsed into a nearby chair as she, like her grandson, was swept up in a fit of vindictive elation.

* * *

Theodore Nott awoke on Christmas morning and was, for the first time in his life, happy that he was in his own house.

The grim pall of his father's menacing presence was finally lifted from Nott Manor and Theo was finally able to notice the fragrant smells of pine, cocoa, and the distinctive air of a winter morning. It was as though a thick mask that had been welded to his face to keep him insensate to the small joys of the world around him had been suddenly ripped off (and, at that thought, he was almost disappointed that Harry Potter wasn't here so he could describe the rather violent thought and give his - friend? associate? deliverer? - some ideas).

He was disturbed from his musings as a ball of brown-haired energy landed with a crash onto his bed.

"Theo! Theo! It's Christmas! It's Christmas!"

Theo smiled, genuinely happy to see his baby sister Eleanor so full of life, free from the cruelty of their father. As he looked up, he saw his older sister, Francine, standing in the doorway, the barest hints of a smile, almost undetectable, playing about the corners of her mouth. She had had a much more difficult time dealing with all the pain and misery their father had inflicted, she was still seeing a mind-healer and would probably have to continue her treatment for years, but, with her chains finally broken, her recovery was progressing and she was finally starting to open up to her loved ones.

The reunited family made their way down to the Christmas tree. Theo reveled in the opportunity to finally give his sisters things they actually wanted and deserved; not the least of these things were the love, kindness, and respect they had so long been denied. At Christmas, in the past, their father had made a pretense of gift-giving to them, usually providing Francine with clothes and jewelry (which he would later order her to wear to 'social functions' with his 'business associates') and giving Eleanor a tatty doll or some little thing that he had gotten for cheap as he couldn't be bothered to waste his galleons on her. Theo never received toys, other than a child's broomstick (which his father only got him because Lucius Malfoy kept boasting about how skilled a flyer young Draco was and the elder Nott was fiercely competitive), as his father tried to give him more mature gifts that a respectable heir should appreciate.

This was, without doubt, the first true Christmas that the Nott siblings had ever actually experienced.

Theo was content to sit and watch as Eleanor practically dived into the pile of presents he'd gotten her and Francine opening her gifts at a more sedate pace. He then noticed a pile of presents that hadn't been there last night; closer inspection revealed that they were for him and he smiled when he saw the symbols that represented the team's codenames printed on the cards (Theo had his own emblem, a Celtic knot, which he had marked on the cards of his own gifts that he'd sent to the other team members). Although he hadn't been seriously involved in the team's activities of late, they still considered him to be one of them.

Theo was more like Daphne in terms of the team's mission. He was an information provider and strategist, not really interested in getting his hands dirty (not because he didn't think the bastards deserved what they got, but more because of personal squeamishness). He was also willing to give support to team in other ways, like helping them free prisoners or giving alibis. Harry didn't mind Theo's reluctance to engage in the violence; unlike Voldemort, Harry would never force his, for lack of a better word, followers to do things they were uncomfortable with.

Theo opened a large, brightly-wrapped parcel that could only be from Luna, even had the sunflower signature not given it away, and was astounded by what he saw. Two beautiful paintings of the only loved ones who couldn't be there to share Christmas with them. Theo's mother, kindly and rose-cheeked, smiled loving back at him, all decked out in fine white and silver robes. The other portrait showed his brother, Daniel, whole and happy; the portrait-Daniel grinned toothily over at the portrait of their mother before turning back to Theo. These portraits couldn't speak, as they were done posthumously and hadn't been imbued with the memories of the people they represented, but Luna had obviously pushed enough magic into them to give them a basic understanding of who they were supposed to be.

At dinner that evening, Theo sat at the head of the table with his sisters seated to his right. The portraits were set over two chairs to his left that he had decided to leave open in memory of the dearly departed. Leaving the two vacant chairs would be a tradition in the Nott household for as long as Theo lived; and, after his death, his son would insist on leaving at least one chair always unoccupied at Christmas in honor of any loved ones who were absent.

* * *

Harry was content to sit on the sofa with a warm cup of cocoa as he watched the Weasleys eagerly exchanging gifts. The epitome of peace and innocence, they had no idea that the tired-eyed boy in the background of their Christmas card-like cheer had stayed up late into the night brutally torturing and murdering three people. They couldn't possibly imagine that the hands into which they shoved gifts of a hand-knitted sweater, candy, pranking supplies, and so forth had been stained in an ocean of blood and entrails.

If only they knew the dark, cruel, and savage things he had done, they would turn away from him in disgust and horror. They'd run screaming if they saw him. They'd call him the Darkest wizard to ever live.

"Let's sing some carols, Harry!"

"Open this present next, Harry!"

"Hey, Harry, Sirius turned the staircase into a perfect slide to do some sledding. Want to join us?"

"Harry dear, could you hold the door while I bring out supper?"

"Happy Christmas, Harry!"

If only they knew.

* * *

 **Author's Note** **: I had originally intended for Luna to be singing "Santa Claus is Coming to Town," as that is way creepier, but, as that song is not in the public domain, I changed to "Oh, Little Town of Bethlehem" to avoid any potential unpleasantness from the Fanfiction administrators. Also, "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" just seems more of an American song, and, as Harry Potter is set in Britain, a traditional carol seemed more appropriate, too.**


	14. Why so Silent, Good Messieurs?

The Purge

 **I'm baaaaack. Sorry about the wait, guys, I've been really,** _ **really**_ **busy lately with the graduate program I'm taking (just have an internship to go through in Spring and then I can finally enter the job market…*nervous yay*). On top of that, I've fallen headfirst into some other fandoms; Hetalia, especially, is a fandom pit from which I doubt I shall ever emerge. So don't expect another update anytime soon (the initial draft of this has been sitting in my folder for about a year and I just kept putting off finishing it until a bit of inspiration struck).**

 **Warning: Deep talks between parents/parental figures and teens.**

Why so Silent, Good Messieurs?

It was Christmas night. The residents of Grimmauld Place had just finished a sumptuous dinner and were beginning to settle in for the night after the conclusion of their celebrations. Two people, however, had gone to sit in the study and talk for a while. As Harry finished telling Sirius an ever-so-slightly modified version of events of the last term, a question he'd been meaning to ask finally arose in the conversation.

"Sirius, was my mother homicidally insane?" Harry said casually.

"Your mother was the kindest, sweetest, most wonderful witch it has ever been my pleasure to call my friend," said Sirius.

Harry quirked one eyebrow up, as if to point out that Sirius had not answered the question.

"She may have been somewhat… _zealous_ , I suppose. Especially after the Death Eaters murdered her parents. Of course, she always had a particular dislike for bullies. Frankly, everyone was surprised when she finally gave your dad a chance, considering the lot of us acted like a bunch of absolute berks for so long."

"Did she ever do anything…how do I put this? Did she ever cross the line in terms of legality…or humanity?"

"Well, there was the time when she found out that some of the junior Death Eaters had used Dark magic on her friend Mary Macdonald. That was around the time her friendship with Snape fell apart."

"Mary Macdonald?"

"Yeah, she married Andrew Bones. She's one of the people who was rescued from that bastard Gibbon, under mysterious circumstances."

Harry couldn't help but feel as though Sirius was giving him a scrutinizing look. Like Sirius knew why Harry was asking all these questions. Harry had to give his godfather some credit; he wasn't exactly the credulous sort, especially not to the level of other members of the Order of the Phoenix.

"But, as I was saying," Sirius continued. "Lily did not like what happened. Even after all these years, I doubt that little pillock Mulciber can sit the right way on a potty after...let's just say it was reportedly very unpleasant."

"Can't you tell me what my mum did to him?"

Sirius was very nervous as Harry watched him. There were certain things the older wizard had no desire to relive, even though they hadn't happened to him, personally. But, with those eyes, those hauntingly familiar and terrifying eyes that had once promised a fate worse than death for anyone who dared cross the one who possessed those eyes, it was all Sirius could do not to scream out the information amidst pleas for mercy.

Sirius may have cared about Lily as if she were a sister, but even he couldn't deny that she could put the fear of God into any man that crossed her. And he'd hoped – perhaps rather naively – that whatever madness followed her wouldn't be passed down to Harry.

A fool's hope, that.

* * *

Tracey smiled at her reflection as she held up the floor-length dress in front of her as she looked in the mirror. Not dress robes, but an actual ball gown, just like she'd wanted. Her parents definitely came through for her on Christmas. It was dark purple and had a tasteful amount of sparkles. And, of course, it went perfectly with the necklace her boyfriend – she still blushed when she thought about that – had sent her.

"You're going to look splendid, dear," her mirror said to her.

"You really think so?" said Tracey.

"Of course! Just remember to go easy on the sweets this week so you don't lose that figure of yours, and you'll knock 'em dead."

"Cheeky mirror. I thought we got rid of the sass charm on you."

"Some things are hard-wired, my dear."

Tracey rolled her eyes at the tactless enchanted mirror and set her dress back up on its hanger. She then picked up a small hand mirror and called out the name 'Daphne.' The Blacks weren't the only old family to possess two-way mirrors, after all. Tracey saw Daphne appear in the glass and had to hold back a giggle as she saw the other girl was wearing a green face mask.

"Hey, Trace," said Daphne. "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Daph. I see you're getting a head start on primping for the New Year's ball."

"Facials are relaxing," Daphne said defensively. "It's not like I _need_ any sort of treatments to have perfect skin. My sheer radiance is completely natural."

"Oh, of course. In regards to the ball, have you got your gown ready?"

"I don't know why you insist we wear gowns instead of dress robes."

"Times are changing, Daph. And, besides, you must admit that gowns are much more flattering than robes."

"Point taken. Anyway, was there something you wanted to ask me?"

"Yes, as it happens. You were doing some research on spells that turn people inside-out, right?"

"Has one of the prisoners been acting up?"

"Called me a 'stupid cunt' and said he plans to rape me bloody when he escapes."

"Tsk, tsk. That's no way to talk to a lady."

"Yes, you'd really think they'd have learned by now. But, I'm not upset. Just going to get him out of the way so that his poor manners do not begin to infect the others."

"And the fact that some of the spells I've discovered will keep him alive for hours while still being inside-out?"

"Just icing on the cake. Speaking of which, we must have tea together soon. I can even invite the other girls. We can have a pleasant chat…and then get rid of a few more prisoners."

"I can't think of anything else I'd rather do. Day after tomorrow suit you?"

"Splendid, my dear. See you at, what, four-thirty?"

"Perfect. Ta!"

With that, Daphne disappeared from the mirror and Tracey returned to admiring her gown. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

"Tracey, my girl, may I come in?"

"Of course, Dad," she replied.

Walter Davis peeked his head in the door, smiling at his daughter.

"Your mother is still up and about," he said. "Keeps going on about pudding."

"I think that's why my new friend Luna likes Mum."

"Yes, I noticed that you've suddenly gotten a whole host of new friends." He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. "Tracey, is there something you need to tell me."

"No, Dad."

"Because, if there's anything bothering you, you know you can talk to me, right?"

"Dad, I'm over it. Daphne and I, we both got help."

"Tracey, you are my little girl. You were being hurt at school by that unlamented little sod Malfoy. Why did you never ask me to help you? I would have burned Hogwarts down to the bedrock had I known what was being done to you."

She looked away from him.

"Because I was ashamed," she said softly. "I didn't want to admit it happened, because that would have made it real. And, if it was real, I would have disgraced our family by not being strong enough to fight him off. I couldn't stand the thought that I'd embarrassed you and Mum, or that I was being pitied for being weak."

"Tracey, for Merlin's sake, you were assaulted! In what world would that have ever been your fault? The only thing I feel about the situation is a raw fury at the bastard who hurt you and the thugs he had to help him. Well, that and a gratitude towards whoever got rid of them. If I ever find out who tortured Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle to death, I am going to shake that person's hand and find a way to get him an Order of Merlin."

Tracey's eyes filled up with tears and she ran into her father's arms and hugged him. Ever since she'd come home for the holidays, they had skirted this conversation relentlessly. Or, rather, _she_ had. She had been so afraid of what her family would think of her, she tried to avoid the subject at all costs. But, now, knowing what her father truly thought of the matter made an enormous difference. It was fitting, perhaps, for Christmastime that Tracey realized just how fortunate she was to have a father who genuinely loved her as much as hers did. She could only shudder at the thought of what would have happened to her if her father had been a brutal traditionalist who treated her like chattel, as she had seen in the case of many of the Death Eaters she had killed.

"Oh, and, Tracey dear," her father said after the prolonged silence, "do be more mindful of your _guests_ in the basement. One of them managed to chew his own arms off to escape his manacles and was nearly able to make a bid for freedom. Lucky thing I happened to be passing, otherwise we would have had to do a bit of damage control."

* * *

Fairy lights twinkled from the elaborate hedges and topiary lining the walk up to the grand entrance of Davis Manor. Snow was falling, dusting the dark coats of the arriving guests so that they almost resembled clear night skies (tiny dots of white on rich black, blue, or purple, depending on what color one perceived the night sky to be). Entering the hall, one could see festoons of holly, pine, ribbons, and other seasonal ornaments dripping from and clinging to columns, bannisters, paintings, lintels, and other normal surfaces for holiday decorating. Christmas trees remained proudly in place, not to be taken down until sometime much farther into January.

But Harry Potter quickly steered himself into the ballroom with the other guests. Golden light glittered off the rose gold marble floor and the shimmering baubles that floated around the ceiling, shining out of the high windows that encompassed the room. While Harry had visited Tracey's house before, he had yet to set foot into this particular room, as his focus at the time had been more on exacting horrific tortures on their Death Eater captives. Now, though, Harry was actually very happy that he had been welcomed to such an event. His past experience with the Yule Ball the previous year had made him rather leery about gatherings of this kind, but now that he was a little older and somewhat more confident, he felt that he might be able to actually enjoy himself rather than sit at the back of the room and sulk.

Seeing Tracey practically glide into the room, smiling at him as if he were a normal human being and not a psychotic mass-murderer, concluded for Harry that this was definitely looking to be a pleasant evening.

"Hey," Tracey said as she came over to him.

"Hey," Harry replied. "You look great."

"Thanks, so do you."

Tracey took Harry by the arm and led him about the room, quietly whispering about the potential targets in attendance for the party. Unfortunately, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy were not present, as Lucius had become incredibly paranoid lately and was refusing to set foot outside Malfoy Manor. That bought him and his wife a little extra time to live – not much, but Harry and his team were more focused on the easy pickings at the party.

While Harry and a couple of his teammates still wanted to ensure that all Death Eaters suffered horribly for their crimes, the fact was that this was still war and the herd needed to be thinned quickly. Eliminating some of the lesser Death Eaters and their sympathizers swiftly and efficiently would go a long way to destabilizing much of Voldemort's base support and leave him without as many underlings to do his grunt work. The more politically powerful and magically skilled Death Eaters were the ones Harry and his team sought to make suffer, as they were the ones who ran the operation, but the support base needed to be wiped out, as well.

Tracey briefly pulled away from Harry to step over to the refreshment table, where she picked up a glass of champagne and quickly dropped something into it which dissolved instantly. Smiling as if nothing was out of the ordinary, Tracey carried the glass over to a large, hulking man nearby. She chatted amicably at the man as she offered him the glass, completely ignoring the perverted leer he was giving her. The man, whoever he was, downed the drink, not suspecting anything.

"Slow-acting poison," Tracey said quietly to Harry when she returned to his side. "I have enough for at least a dozen people."

"Are you campaigning for the title of the new Lucrezia Borgia?" Harry replied softly.

She gave him a wry smile and lightly prodded his side with her elbow. The two of them then resumed taking their turn about the room. They noticed the presence of Neville Longbottom and his formidable grandmother. There was something decidedly different about Neville, now; he was walking taller and seemed, if only slightly, more sure of himself. They also spotted Daphne, who had also clearly taken note of Neville's new confidence and apparently liked what she saw, if her determined stride over to him was any indication.

"Perhaps we could have at least one dance," Tracey suggested. "Before any unfortunate incidents occur."

"I must warn you, Miss Davis, that my dancing skills are rather poor," Harry replied.

"That is simply due to lack of practice. Which is something easily remedied."

Tracey took hold of his hands and led him out to the center of the room as the first dance began. Harry was still not a very gifted dancer, especially considering he'd been to one dance in his entire life prior to this and had not bothered to participate in most of the evening's main activity, but Tracey was very patient with him and gently reminded him that most of the people in the room were either friends or else would be dead by sunrise.

The peaceful, normal, nonviolent moment was, sadly, not to last.

The lights in the ballroom flickered out as the house began to shake. Many of the guests began to scream and panic. Tracey clutched Harry's hand.

"They wouldn't attack like this," she said in disbelief. "Not right now. They're too weak."

"Greetings, my fellow witches and wizards," a foul voice echoed through the room. Voldemort was here.

Harry was momentarily struck that he hadn't sensed Voldemort's presence, until he remembered what happened on Halloween. Whatever link he'd once had to Voldemort's mind was severed. It made Harry feel less polluted, no longer having that tie to his archenemy, but it was also something of an inconvenience to not be able to sense when Voldemort was close by.

"It is, indeed, I, Lord Voldemort," the snake-faced Dark Lord continued. "I felt it was time to make my return known, at last, and to punish those who would dare to defy me. At present, several of my loyal followers have infiltrated this gathering, so rife with mudbloods and blood-traitors as it is, and they will attack when I give the order. However, I am inclined to be merciful. I know that Harry Potter is also here. Surrender him to me and I will spare your lives, this night.

"You have one hour."

As the other partygoers screamed and ran about frantically in the wake of Voldemort's demand, Harry just turned and smiled at Tracey, though it was difficult to see in the darkness.

"You know what, Tracey," he said calmly. "I've decided I'm going to stop playing 'Who Should I Kill First?' in my head and just go with what feels natural."

* * *

 **Author's Note** **: Fans of my other fic, 'He's Not Dead Yet,' will undoubtedly note that I made Tracey's parents very different in this. That's because it's boring to do the same thing over and over, as I'm sure many fanfiction writers will agree. It's a small thing, but I wanted to cut off any comments about the different portrayals before they arose.**

 **My thanks to the person who reminded me that Harry has, in fact, had detention with Umbridge. I forgot about it when I wrote Umbridge's brief POV in another chapter in which she bemoans the fact that she hasn't been able to give Harry detention. It's a small problem, but, to cover the plot-hole, please regard that as Umbridge being upset that she hadn't been able to give Harry a detention** _ **recently**_ **.**


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